Traveler Season Two
by true-elven
Summary: Imagined as the second season of the ABC show Traveler, canceled after eight episodes summer 2007. Each chapter novelizes one episode, and each chapter has four parts told from four different character perspctives. Keep on travelin!
1. Chapter 1

**Episode 1:**

"**The Escape"**

**Part 1**

Ten hours after Jack Freed and their chance at redemption went up in smoke, Will Traveler slipped back into the motel room where his friends Jay Burchell and Tyler Fog were sound asleep. They had stolen a car to escape Manhattan before the FBI and NSA shut the island off completely. Will had taken them a safe distance from the city before pulling off at the kind of seedy roadside motel where not even federal agents liked to ask questions.

"Breakfast," Will announced, depositing a bag of doughnuts and three Styrofoam cups of coffee from the greasy spoon next door onto the stained Formica table. He kicked the foot of Jay's bed, then Tyler's. "C'mon, guys, wake up."

Jay sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and stretched. Tyler, however, groaned and pulled the covers over his head. "Five more minutes," came the muffled plea.

"Get up. We've got work to do," Will ordered.

While his friends – if he could still call them that, after everything he had put them through – slept, Will had been putting out feelers as cautiously as he could through his extensive network of contacts and informants. He needed to know what was happening before he made his next move. What he had learned was not going to please either of his friends, but especially not Jay.

Jay walked over to the table and selected a cup of coffee. "How's your side?" he asked, grimacing as he sipped the bitter liquid.

Surprised by the show of concern, Will lied, "It's fine." Actually, the gunshot wound hurt like hell. Luckily, the bullet had gone in and out without doing major damage, though it would have been his own stupid fault if it had torn through his gut and into his spine, mission over right there in the alley. He should have known an FBI agent would have a back-up weapon; he should have checked for an ankle holster. Sloppy, that's what he had been, so he wasn't going to give himself the luxury of self-pity over getting hurt.

Tyler drug himself over to the table and began gulping down coffee and doughnuts without complaint. Like all of them, he looked awful: greasy, disheveled, exhausted. But for a spoiled rich kid, Will reflected, he was handling "roughing it" remarkably well.

_Just goes to show how little we really know people…_

"So what's up?" Having abandoned the idea of breakfast, Jay was in the midst of his requisite 200 push-ups to start the day. "Were you gone all night?"

"Most of it. I needed to make some calls, and I didn't want to disturb you guys."

_Or be overheard_. Will was keeping his activities intentionally vague; for their own protection, he wanted to control his friends' access to information, because the less they knew about him, the less likely they were to be targeted by people wanting to hurt him. Knowing how he obtained his information was not necessary for their survival at this point, so Will had decided to keep them in the dark.

Nibbling the edges of a stale doughnut, he went on, "Freed's dead, but we pretty much already knew that, unless he was fire-proof."

"Lemme guess." Jay stood up. "Tyler and I got the credit for another act of homeland terrorism."

Will confirmed this with a nod. "Not unexpected, obviously. But the result is, you two are way too hot to stay out in the open right now. The way the media is painting you makes Timothy McVeigh look like a Boy Scout. You're as likely to be lynched as arrested."

Apparently losing his appetite, Tyler dropped a half-eaten jelly roll onto the sticky tabletop. "What are we gonna do, Will? We don't have any money or a place to hide out, and we can't stay on the run forever stealing cars and holding up in motels."

"You don't have money or hiding places, Tyler. But I do."

"Wait." Jay joined them at the small table, his blue eyes intense in the way Will knew promised a difficult argument. "We can't just go into hiding and hope this all blows over. We don't have the painting anymore, but we do have a copy of Freed's confession on tape. Why not stick to the original plan, go to the press with what we've got? Use the tide of public opinion to help us for a change?"

Choking down a swallow of thick black coffee, Will took a moment to carefully craft his answer. The trust between him and his once-closest friends was too tenuous for him to bank on their unquestioning acceptance of his strategy, yet he was convinced that their lives depended on them doing exactly as he said. So he needed to be very, very persuasive; he had to strike a balance between reminding them that he was the expert on espionage and convincing them that, even though he wasn't the person they had believed him to be, he still cared what happened to them.

"Three things." Will could see Jay mentally preparing counterarguments, and he would have smiled at his friend's innate lawyering if the situation weren't so dire. "First of all, that copy we have of Freed's confession isn't worth shit. Without the original, nobody will believe we didn't doctor the tape, and without the painting, we have no way to corroborate what Freed said.

"Secondly," he held up a hand for Jay to let him go on, "if we put our heads up long enough to get that tape into the hands of a reporter, chances are it'll be enough time for the feds to get a bead on us. Look what happened last night. And we know none of us are going to get a fair shake from the FBI."

Jay was glowering, unable, it seemed, to easily dismiss Will's case. "And the third thing?" he challenged.

"We don't know enough about what we're into yet to make any bold moves." Will had purposefully saved his strongest point for last, and he could see it having the desired impact on his companions: Jay, apparently out of rebuttals, visibly deflated, while Tyler sat up a little straighter and nodded in agreement. "Now, I'm willing to share with you guys everything I know about the Drexler plot and Hometown and Freed, but as far as the Fourth Branch goes, I'm shooting in the dark. One thing I know for sure: In this business, knowledge is power. We find out what Freed was really up to and where we fit into all of that, and we at least stand a chance of getting out of this alive. You guys may even get your futures back."

_And maybe I can disappear._

For a few minutes, none of them said anything. The wound in Will's side was throbbing; bone-weary from grief, exhaustion and pain, he shut his tired eyes. Immediately, Maya's accusing face rose up before his eyes. It was all he could do not to cry out.

"So where would we go?" Tyler broke the silence, sounding small and uncertain. "Doesn't the FBI know everywhere you could hide?"

Will opened his eyes and offered a self-congratulating grin to his friends. "Fortunately for us, I wasn't a model agent. Let's just say I planned for contingencies."

"Which is another way of saying you stole money and hoarded it and kept a lot of secrets from the government," Tyler interpreted. Will raised his eyes at his friend's ambivalent tone, and Tyler shrugged. "Hey, man, it's the American way. You think my family got rich by being saints?"

Jay was obviously less accepting of Will's sordid past, but he seemed willing to overlook the indiscretions if it would help them now. "So we go into hiding with your money and we use your contacts and your, I don't know, super-spy skills to help us out. And then what? How do we lay low and figure out what Freed's agenda was? Those things seem mutually exclusive to me."

_Stay cool. It's all in the delivery._

"Actually," Will fastened his eyes on Jay's, hoping to invoke the closeness they had always shared, "I'm not going with you."

Jay snorted derisively, as if to say, _We should have known. _Tyler threw his empty Styrofoam cup across the room in frustration. "This is bullshit, Will! You think we're going to take your word that you're not sending us into a trap? You think we trust you?"

"He's got a point," Jay agreed, coolly considering Will. "How do we know you won't be screwing us behind our backs? You've got a history of doing just that."

Will hated that he cared so much about falling so far in their estimation. He had gotten too close; he had created his character too convincingly; he had come to believe that Will Traveler was a real person, someone worthy of love and friendship and trust. Now, because saving their lives was all that really mattered, he scrupulously hid his longing to regain their respect behind a cool exterior that matched Jay's.

"I can't come with you right now. I have to take care of something, something that can't wait, and you guys have to get out of sight and start following up some of my leads – "

Standing, Tyler snapped, "That's where you're wrong, Will. We don't 'have' to do anything you say. You're not our Yoda anymore, man. You can't just go around handing out orders and expect to be obeyed."

"Jay, they've got Kim.

Will generally disliked dramatics, but since the reasoned approach had backfired, he decided to go for it.

Jay instantly paled. "Who has Kim?"

"The FBI."

Will's unspoken "which is the same as saying the people who want us all dead" hung in the air between them. Tyler placed a comforting (or perhaps restraining) hand on Jay's shoulder. "She was arrested last night after you left the club. They've moved her to a secure location. That means they didn't put her in the system," Will explained, driving home the enormity of the situation, "so they can use her against you without exciting anybody's suspicions. Although under the Patriot Act, they can pretty much do whatever they want with her, anyway."

Already on his feet before Will finished speaking, Jay said, "Yeah, well, it worked – they got to me. If I have to turn myself in to protect her – "

Tyler caught Jay's arm, looking frantically to Will for help. "Hang on, Jay, I'm sure Kim is fine."

"They killed his girlfriend, Tyler!" Jay exploded, pointing at Will. Tyler gasped; Jay immediately looked horrified by his own words. Turning to Will, he said quickly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…I'm sorry they hurt Maya, Will. I just can't let the same thing happen to Kim."

Hearing Maya's name made Will wince inwardly. Outwardly, he rejoined with no obvious emotion, "Freed killed Maya because she was no more use to him. They got information out of me by making me believe I could save her life, but she was already dead."

"That's-that's awful," Tyler murmured. He looked faintly green.

Will shored up the sorrow threatening to overwhelm him. He would mourn Maya when the time came; for now, he had to undo the damage he had done to the only other people in the world he cared about. Stopping Jay from turning himself in and convincing both he and Tyler to go into hiding was paramount to that plan.

"The point is," he said to Jay, keeping his gaze and his voice level, "as long as they think Kim is useful to them, she's safe. For now, she's not in immediate danger, but we can't leave her there. So you two are going to disappear and start opening some backdoor channels, and I'm going to get Kim and bring her to you. Then we can all figure this out together."

The fight Will had known was coming was written all over Jay's face. "No way. I'm going with you."

Calmly, Will pulled the .9 millimeter from his waistband and handed it handle-first to Jay, who accepted it with a puzzled frown. "How fast can you aim that, shoot it, and reload it?"

"Not very fast."

"Can you hit a moving target? Can you provide covering fire? Returning fire?"

"I don't know. Probably not."

"What about disabling an alarm system? Or hot-wiring a car? Or killing a man with nothing but your hands? How much do you know about any of that, Jay?"

Jay's eyes were bright with tears. "She's my whole world, man. I may not know what you know, but I can't not go."

"That's why you have to not go." Will took the gun back and returned it to its readily-accessible position. He reached out and placed a tentative hand on Jay's shoulder, relieved when his friend didn't jerk away. "I promise you, I swear to you, I won't let anything happen to Kim. But I can't get her out safely and worry about you at the same time."

An obvious struggle was going on inside Jay, one Will could appreciate: If the tables were turned, he couldn't have put Maya's fate in another man's hands. Especially not one who had proven himself a traitor of superb quality.

At last, Jay's inner battle ended, and he relented with a wordless nod. Before his friend could change his mind, Will sprang into action.

"Okay. I found you a new vehicle – a white Chevy pick-up, right over there." He pointed to a full-size truck he had stolen earlier that morning from where its owners had left it out of gas along the highway. "You're going to head north and keep heading north until you get to Maine, way up at the top of the state to a little town called Springstown. I have a house there, well off the beaten path. Probably no one will even notice you're there. I keep it stocked with food and supplies, so you should be able to lay low until I can get to you."

Tyler was hurriedly gathering up the jackets, shirts and socks they had discarded around the room the night before. "And those leads you want us to look into? What about those?"

Will produced a sheet of paper from his back pocket and handed it to Jay. It was crammed with names, dates, and numbers. "That's all the info I could get last night about Freed's connections and the people who may have been involved with the Drexler plot. There's also some stuff about Hometown on there, the people I know were part of it. The house has got computers and the Internet. Just don't do anything illegal online and you should be able to research all of that without popping up on anybody's radar."

He motioned for Jay to turn the paper over, where he had written a long series of numbers. "That top number is the number of a bank account in Augusta. It has one-hundred million dollars in it."

Tyler whistled. "Quite a nest egg, Will. And here you always made me pay for everything."

For one moment, Will was almost able to forget that everything had changed between them. As he had for two years, he nearly convinced himself that they were all just roommates and best friends – bright young men, rising stars with the world wide open and waiting for them.

_But that was never true, not for me. So what's the use in missing what I never had to begin with?_

Brusquely, Will commanded, "If something happens and you have to run, go to Augusta. The account is in the name Dean Moriarty. That password," he pointed to the second series of numbers, "will allow you to take or transfer however much you need. Tyler, you know how to get money into off-shore accounts and all that, right?"

Tyler smirked. "No self-respecting venture capitalist doesn't."

Jay tucked the paper into his pocket. "You sure this is how you want to do this, Will? We can go with you. We don't have to split up."

"No. I work better alone." Will hesitated, uncertain how much right he had to say what he felt he needed to. He decided to risk it. "Besides, you guys need to get out of harm's way. No matter what I thought I was fighting for, I never should have put you there in the first place."

Two years of loving one another like brothers did not, Will instantly saw, easily fade away. His words hardly came close to redressing the wrong he had done Jay and Tyler, and the pain he would still have to put them through if they were to prove their innocence and reclaim their lives. Yet at the slightest show of remorse, they both rushed to assure him, in their own ways, that while he wasn't wholly forgiven, he could be.

"Don't worry about it, man," Tyler offered, shouldering his satchel. "At least you didn't blow us up. You get points for that."

"I gotta say, this is turning out to be one hell of a road trip, though," Jay put in with a wry smile. "Next time, I don't think we're going to put you in charge of planning, Will."

Will shook his head. The goodness inside other people, when he felt himself to be largely hollow and empty underneath his chameleon exterior, never ceased to amaze him. Someday, he hoped Jay and Tyler would know how much their willingness to forgive meant to him.

"Just get to Springstown and lay low, okay? I'll come to you as soon as I have Kim. And guys," he added, drawing them up short at the door, "don't trust anybody but each other."

**Part 2**

Kim Doherty didn't know which was worse: being terrified of what would happen to her next or realizing what a fool she had been for trusting the FBI. _What a naïve little girl I am, _she chided herself, pacing the dingy room where she was currently confined. Apparently, truth and justice were not the real concerns of the FBI – more like "money" and "power."

Okay, so probably that was unfair. Agent Marlow seemed like a decent person. But Chambers, now, he was _not _one of the good guys. Nor were the meatheads he had guarding her, who seemed to do nothing besides crack their knuckles threateningly and leer at her whenever they peered in to be sure she was alive.

At least they hadn't hurt her – or touched her, even, which she confessed to herself she was very worried about. The room wasn't exactly the Ritz, but it was clean and surprisingly comfortable; it held a bed with fresh sheets, a desk with a reading lamp and several outdated copies of _People _and _Newsweek, _an ancient mini-fridge stocked with bottled water, and – most importantly – her own bathroom that locked from the inside. Kim had already made use of the shower and, when exhaustion finally overcame fear, the bed.

Her first day of captivity behind her, Kim was starting to go a little stir-crazy. Her room had no windows; she hadn't heard a sound from the other side of the locked door since around midnight, when one of the meatheads had peeked in at her. She was hungry, bored, and frightened, and for a woman unaccustomed to being out of control, all of that was combining to really piss her off.

To both distract herself and pretend she was doing something useful, Kim sat at the desk turning over and over in her mind everything Jay had told her concerning Will, trying to make it fit with the person she had known for two years. The only conclusion she could come to was that Will Traveler was an exceptional spy, because no matter how hard she tried, she could recall nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary in his behavior. He was infallibly charming, polite, and interesting, if perhaps a bit wild and adventurous; Kim had always found his affable nature and tendency toward sudden rebellions endearing, actually. Except for one nagging memory, she could bring to mind nothing to suggest that Will was anyone other than Will…

It had happened about seven months ago, shortly after Thanksgiving. Tyler had been away for the weekend at some distant cousin's elaborate wedding in Martha's Vineyard, and Jay had been in New Orleans speaking at a conference on the legal ramifications of Hurricane Katrina. Jay had called Kim on her way home from class to ask if she would drop by The Castle (as the boys referred to their graduate housing pad) to email him a back-up copy of his speech; he had saved the speech to his laptop, he told her in a panic, and then, in his nervous excitement, had forgotten to take the laptop with him. Sympathetic to his nerves, Kim had readily agreed to do him such a small favor.

She thought the house was empty. Will didn't own a car (Tyler always furnished things like that for the three of them) but the house was totally dark in the gathering late-fall dusk. Besides, she had been fairly certain Will's chemical engineering lab met on Tuesday evenings. She let herself into the house with the spare key Jay had given her and flipped on the living room light to find Will, wearing nothing but battered pair of faded jeans, napping on the couch.

He immediately sat up, blinking sleep out of his eyes and stretching. Kim felt her face turn brick-red; she was a little uncomfortable about having a key to The Castle anyway, seeing as how it wasn't only Jay's house, and she rarely came over when Jay wasn't home for that very reason. So surprising Will asleep and half-naked deeply embarrassed her.

"I'm so sorry," she sputtered, taking a step back toward the front door. "I didn't realize you were home."

"It's okay, Kim." Will smiled at her, looking cute and sleepy with his soft, sandy-colored hair mussed. He glanced at the clock and groaned. "Shit, I just slept through my lab."

He stood up and turned toward the kitchen, saying, "You want something to drink?"

Kim gasped. On Will's right side, along his ribcage, was a large, angry, purple-black bruise. "My God," she cried, forgetting her discomfiture and rushing over to him. "What happened to you, Will?"

He glanced down at the bruise. "Oh, that." He smiled ruefully. "I decided to try my hand at boxing classes, and this guy I was partnered with got a little carried away with the sparring."

"Weren't you wearing pads?" Kim couldn't help noticing that the bruise was rather suspiciously boot-shaped. "Jesus, Will, did he kick you? Or stomp on you? Are your ribs broken?"

Instinctively, she placed her hand on Will's bare side, feeling for fractures. "Did you have a doctor look at this?" Kim demanded, raising her eyes to his.

At that moment, she became acutely aware of several unsettling facts all at once: She and Will were alone in the house; he was not wearing a shirt; she was touching his warm, bare skin; they were close enough that if she stretched up slightly on her tip-toes, their mouths would touch; no one would ever know if she…just…

Will seemed to be aware of these things, too, because his blue-green eyes had darkened to a deep azure. Eyes on hers, he gave a nervous little cough. "I think I'm okay, really, Kim. Like I said, the guy got carried away."

She hastily stepped away from him, blushing deeply. "Well, I hope you gave as good as you got," she managed. Will reached around the back of the couch and slipped his shirt on, yet the awkwardness remained. "I'm really just here to get something off Jay's computer…"

And that was how they had left it. She had rushed upstairs to email Jay and had hastily left. They had never spoken of the incident, and Kim had chalked it up to "one of those things" – Will was very good-looking, after all, and the moment had just been weirdly intimate, probably because she was missing Jay and he was half-asleep. Now, however, sitting in a cell-like room with the entire country believing her boyfriend was a terrorist, she couldn't help wondering if Will had deliberately traded on his sensuality to throw her off the scent of something more sinister than an overzealous sparring partner.

_Some girlfriend I am. I get turned on by my boyfriend's best friend and end up too hormonal to suspect that he really wasn't what he seemed…_

The clock by the bed read 9:45am. Unable to stand being alone with her troubling thoughts for another minute, Kim was nearly ready to pound on the door and demand to see Chambers. Thus far, she'd been compliant out of fear that if she resisted they would torture her (or worse), but by this point, she figured if they hadn't interrogated her they weren't going to. She had taken a few bold steps toward the door when suddenly a key turned in the deadbolt and one of the meathead agents glared in at her.

"Time to come out, princess," he sneered.

_Okay, fuckhead, you wanna play – let's play._

Righteous anger (or possibly adrenaline) surged through Kim. She drew herself up to her full height and, head held high, marched past the agent without showing the slightest hint of fear. The outer room, which she had only glimpsed as they rushed her in the other night, was empty except for a long metal table with two folding chairs. In one of those sat a pretty, terrified-looking brunette with her wrists bound.

Meathead One, as Kim mentally tagged the agent who had summoned her, grabbed her roughly by the arm and drug her over to the table. "You know this girl, princess?"

The girl looked up pleadingly into Kim's eyes. Kim tried to reassure her with a level gaze. To the agent, she said honestly, "I've never seen her in my life."

"That true?" Meathead Two appeared out of the shadows, addressing the brunette.

"I don't know her," the brunette said, her voice shaking but controlled. "I don't understand, what is happening? What did I do?"

"You fucked the wrong guy," Meathead Two answered coldly. Kim flinched at his crudeness. What _was _going on here? What did this terrified girl have to do with anything?

But the girl seemed to suddenly understand, for the color drained from her face. "You-you mean that bomber guy? I didn't know – he came into the bar where I worked, I just thought, I mean, he looked kind of like him but I didn't think he'd be out walking around like that…"

Meathead Two suddenly swung his fist directly into the girl's face. Kim screamed before she could stop herself. The girl began to sob.

"Stop it," Kim pleaded, twisting in her captor's vice-like grip. "Just stop it. Don't hurt her."

"Shut-up unless you want some of the same," Meathead One warned.

Blood pouring from her nose, the brunette raised her chin rather defiantly. "You can't do this," she declared, glaring at each of her captors in turn. "I know my rights. Yeah, I should've called the cops, but you can't – "

"Sweetness, we can do whatever the hell we want with you," Meathead Two intoned. He casually lit a cigarette and perched on the edge of the metal table. "You aided and abetted a terrorist. That means you got no rights anymore. Ever heard of the Patriot Act?"

Kim couldn't stand back and let them torture some innocent girl without at least trying to intervene, though admittedly, her power was limited. "Who was it?" she asked the girl. "Which one?"

"Fog." The brunette swallowed nervously. "Tyler Fog."

"See? Your boyfriend can keep it in his pants," Meathead One whispered in Kim's ear. She cringed at his touch, afraid the situation was about to seriously dissolve around her.

Meathead Two flipped open a manila file folder lying beside him on the table. "Megan Elizabeth Schultz," he read off. "No prior arrests, not even a speeding ticket. Shame you had to get mixed up in this mess, Megan."

"It's Liz," the brunette corrected automatically. "Nobody calls me Megan, just Liz."

"Okay, Liz." Meathead Two took a long drag off his cigarette, slowly blew out the smoke and knelt beside her chair. Kim could tell the girl was terrified; Kim's own heart was beating so hard she could feel a pulse fluttering in her throat. "Now, I want you to tell me where Tyler Fog went when he got done screwing you."

"Nice," Kim muttered, rolling her eyes at the agent's phrasing.

Liz darted a helpless glance at Kim. "I-I woke up, and he was going through some stuff on my computer, and I realized, really looking at him, you know, that he had to be that bomber guy. I asked him, and he said he was, and then he just…left. I was so scared, I thought he would kill me or something, but he just walked out the – "

Liz's words ended in an agonized scream as, to Kim's horror, the agent pressed the lit end of his cigarette into her slender arm and held it there. "Stop it!" Kim shrieked, fighting for all she was worth to free herself as the scream went on and on. "Stop it, you sick bastard, she doesn't know anything!"

"Get away from her."

The deathly-quiet voice behind Kim brought an instant silence to the room. Meathead Two had leapt away from his prey, whose scream became a soft, sobbing moan; Meathead One jerked Kim around in front of him as a human shield.

_Will._

Kim didn't know what to feel when she saw Will Traveler standing just inside the room, a wicked-looking handgun trained calmly on the agent who had been torturing Liz. A tumult of emotions rose up in her: fury, loathing, revulsion, terror – yet overwhelming any of them was an inexplicable sense of relief.

The thought ran wildly across her mind that everything would be okay now. She was safe.

_Safe? With the man who framed your boyfriend and his best friend for a terrorist attack?_

Stepping farther into the room, Will motioned with his gun for the agent holding Kim to release her. "Let go of Doherty, right now."

Meathead One snorted. "I don't know how you think you are, kid, but you need to find another party before you get hurt."

"I'm only going to ask you one more time. Let go of her arm and move away."

"Fuck you, kid," Meathead One shot back.

He started to swing his gun onto Will, but he had barely twitched when Will fired. Kim screamed; the heat of the bullet whipped past her ear, and a split-second later, she was ducking a gruesome shower of blood and brains.

"Shit!" Meathead Two lunged for his own gun, still holstered at his hip. Will lowered the muzzle of his weapon and shot the man in the kneecap. With a gut-wrenching scream, the agent collapsed on the floor, writhing in pain.

Will immediately turned to Kim and held out one hand in a conciliatory gesture. "Kim, I know you're furious with me and you've got no reason to believe anything I say, but I'm here to take you to Jay."

Kim did believe him. He was right, she had no reason to; maybe years of counting him a close friend, the voice of reason in Jay's life compared to Tyler's constant trouble-making, the rock their small group had clung to through every crisis, maybe all of that was why for the last week she hadn't been able to convince herself that Will Traveler was the enemy. Seeing him now – somber, tired, and brave – she knew she probably never would.

"Are you hurt?" Will approached cautiously, as if prepared for her to strike him, one eye still on the wounded agent.

"No." Kim glanced at the doorway. "Is Jay with you? And Tyler? Do you know if they're all right?"

"They're safe, and that's where we need to get you." Will nodded toward Liz, who was crying softly. "Untie her and let's get going."

Kim quickly moved to release Liz, whose wrists were bound with duct tape. "You're going to be all right," she soothed the girl, who looked frightfully young and vulnerable with tears tracking down her olive-skinned cheeks. "Can you stand up?"

Liz nodded. Kim helped her to her feet, hugging her close to reassure the younger woman that everything was all right. She turned to where Will was kneeling over the wounded agent and said, "Shouldn't we get out of here?"

Will's expression was unreadable. Without preamble, he pressed the gun into the other man's belly and pulled the trigger. The gunshot made Kim jump and Liz scream.

"Fuck!" the agent roared, clutching the hole in his abdomen, blood streaming between his fingers. "Oh, you fucker, mother-"

"Shut up." Will's command drove the agent's shouts into mutterings. "Look at me. I need you to focus."

With supreme effort, the agent managed to drag his eyes up to Will's face. Will went on smoothly, as if he had not just gut-shot another person, "I imagine your friends will be arriving in ten minutes or so, once you and your partner don't check in as scheduled. That's a nasty wound, but I think you can hold on that long, don't you?"

"Fuck you," the man managed through clenched teeth. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm coming to that." Will's voice was so cold, Kim felt the hair all over her body stand up. "I want you to give your boss a message for me, okay? You tell him the biggest mistake of his pathetic little life was trying to kill me and my friends. You tell him that anyone who messes with the people I care about is going to die just like you – slowly."

Liz was trembling so violently Kim almost couldn't keep her upright. "Will, we need to go," she pleaded. "She's hurt."

As if coming back to himself, Will scooped up the agent's gun and tucked it into the pocket of his well-worn brown leather jacket. His own weapon he stowed in a hip holster hidden by his untucked button-down shirt. "I've got her," he said, slipping an arm around Liz's waist. "C'mon, I've got a car in the alley."

Kim had no time to ask the dozens of questions tumbling through her brain as Will loaded Liz in the backseat of a large gray sedan. Kim climbed in with her while Will steered out into traffic.

"How bad is she?" he asked, his eyes on Kim's in the rearview mirror.

"I think he broke her nose, and she's got a bad burn here on this arm." Kim smoothed Liz's thick dark curls, murmuring soothing words of comfort. "I think she's mostly in shock from being tortured. If she could rest…"

Will's eyes moved to the injured girl. "Liz, have you ever taken Valium before?"

Shaking so hard her teeth chattered, Liz said, "N-n-n-o. What's th-th-that?"

"It's to help you relax. So you can sleep." Will handed a black satchel – one Kim recognized with a jolt from two years of seeing him pack it back and forth to class – over the seat to Kim. "In the side pocket. Give her one."

Liz thankfully accepted the pill, and within minutes, she was completely unconscious. Kim gently laid her out across the backseat and climbed up front beside Will.

"Are you okay?" she asked him. The numbness of shock from her terrifying ordeal was beginning to wear off, and in its place emotions were rising that Kim wasn't certain how to handle.

Looking surprised that she would care, Will nodded. "Relatively speaking. Look, Kim, I know you're – "

She slapped him. It happened so suddenly it even surprised Kim: Will's head jerked to the side, and she almost expected him to hit back. He didn't. He just calmly steered the car over to the side of the freeway, plucked a tissue from the console between the seats, and dabbed it at his split top lip.

"Better?" he asked, sounding bemused.

Kim burst into tears. Before she knew what she was doing, she threw her arms around Will's neck and hugged him tightly. Following a moment of understandable astonishment, he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her as closely as he could across the front seat.

"I thought, when I saw the bombing, I thought you were dead, and then everything with Jay and Tyler happened," she sobbed into his neck. She hated herself for losing control like this, yet all of the bottled-up emotions of the last week simply came rushing out of their own accord. "And then Jay, he said, you…But I couldn't believe it, Will, and now…Thank God you're okay."

"Shh," Will said into her hair, rubbing her back. "I know it's a lot to take in, Kim. I'm sorry. Goddamn, I'm sorry." He pushed her back gently, holding her at arm's length so he could look her straight in the eyes. She noted again how exhausted he looked, his pretty blue-green eyes smudged with bruised-looking shadows. "You have every right to hate me, Kim, but you have to trust me right now. I've got to get us out of the city. It's too dangerous here."

Kim was too overwrought to argue anymore. All of the fight seemed to have been leeched out of her with her slap. "I do trust you, Will," she admitted, rather guiltily. She touched her fingertips to the side of his face, where a red mark was forming. "I'm sorry I hit you."

He grinned as he put the car in gear and rejoined the midday traffic. "I earned it. You and Jay, though – he beat the shit out of me, too."

"Jay?" Kim was startled. She couldn't imagine Jay hitting anyone, especially not their Will.

_Except he's not really "our" Will, is he? He could be anybody._

"He's had a tough week," Will reminded her. He glanced in the backseat at Liz. "What's her story?"

"Somehow or other she got tangled up with Tyler. I don't think she knows anything."

"Too late for that now." Will looked grim. "She either stays with us or she'll be dead before nightfall."

Kim shuddered. Another life, ruined because of whatever Will had drug them all into…

She stared out the windshield at the city disappearing behind them. "I'm going on faith right now, Will, but I expect you to tell me everything very, very soon, you know that, right? I need to know what the hell is going on, what my life has been turned upside down over."

Will didn't argue. "You got it. Hang in just a little longer, Kim. This'll all be over soon, I promise."

**Part 3**

By dusk, Tyler and Jay had reached Will's hideout, an old two-storey farmhouse set so far back in the woods they never would have discovered its existence without Will's map. As it was, they nearly turned back twice, but in the end the rutted two-lane road hemmed in on both sides by tall trees and thick underbrush turned out to lead where Will had said it would.

Tyler parked the stolen pick-up in the empty barn, where it would be hidden from sight in the highly unlikely event that anyone stumbled onto their hideout. Will had given explicit instructions for precautions they were supposed to take, however, and hiding the truck was one of them, so the two friends complied.

The walk from the barn to the house unnerved Tyler. In the gathering twilight, the surrounding woods looked ominous and eerie; he kept imagining dozens of eyes peering out at him from the lengthening shadows. Jay seemed to feel exposed, too, because he matched Tyler's quickened pace to the back door, where a key hidden beneath a faded welcome mat gave them entrance to the kitchen.

Swiftly, Jay punched in the security code Will had given them to disarm the house's alarm system. "Christ," Jay muttered, glancing toward the living room where a bank of monitors was set up against one wall. "He's got surveillance on the entire perimeter, doesn't he? Even inside the barn."

Tyler, who was accustomed to lots of security around his father, found the closed-circuit feeds less impressive – and paranoid – than Jay. "Looks like Will's got reason to watch his back to me," he observed. "Let's see if he really keeps this place stocked, shall we? I'm starving."

A thin layer of dust coated the kitchen counters, but the electricity worked and the faucet, after hiccupping for a moment, produced clean, hot water. The refrigerator was empty, giving Tyler a momentary panic, until he opened the pantry beside the stove and discovered that Will had indeed left them well-provisioned with non-perishables like macaroni, soup, canned fruits and vegetables, spaghetti, powdered milk, juice mixes, bottled water and – Tyler grinned – several bottles of wine and a dozen cases of Heineken, Will's favorite beer.

"Never be without your beer," he remarked to Jay, holding out a bottle to his friend. "What should we drink to?"

Jay hesitated. "To surviving."

"Fuck that. To revenge." Tyler popped the top on his beer and drank deeply, longing to swim away from this nightmare on a river of alcohol. He caught Jay's disapproving look, however, and placed the beer on the counter; much as he hated to admit it, Jay was probably right – getting drunk wasn't smart while they were running for their lives.

_Although I really can't think of a better time to be drunk…_

They walked through the house together, as if reassuring themselves that they were alone and safe. Tyler was jumpy. He kept glancing nervously at the curtained windows, imagining guns aimed at him from the other side, or faces pressed to the glass. He felt a little better after discovering a cache of weapons in an upstairs closet – apparently, Will was prepared to fight off a small army if necessary – and better still after finding that the house was equipped with phone and Internet. If worse came to worse, they could at least call for help. Provided they could figure out who was on their side, of course.

Food was priority one to Tyler, though, so before they delved into Will's list of leads, Tyler and Jay fixed macaroni and ate it while sipping beer at the kitchen table. The fare so reminded Tyler of countless other "bachelor meals," as Kim called the roommates' not-quite-square, beer-and-pizza diet, that he experienced an overwhelming sense of grief for the life they had led, the friendship they had shared.

Jay's thoughts seemed to be running along the same lines. "It was weird, seeing Will like that, wasn't it?"

"You mean, pointing a gun at an FBI agent and poking his own guts back in after getting shot? Yeah, that was new," Tyler retorted dryly. "Definitely not an improvement over the old Will."

"I feel weird even calling him that," Jay admitted. He polished off his beer and glanced nervously at the clock. "You think he'd have called by now."

Tyler felt for Jay. He knew how much his friend loved Kim, although personally, Tyler thought Jay had settled down way too early. Not that it mattered now…

"I'm sure they're fine," he said, meaning it. "One thing about this new Will, he looks like he can take care of himself."

"Yeah, but he's in over his head, even he admitted that." Jay ran a hand through his hair, looking exhausted. Tyler didn't bother suggesting that they sleep; he knew Jay wouldn't rest until Kim was back in his arms. "Maybe we ought to get started on those leads he left us. See if we can figure this mess out."

Had he been cruel enough to destroy Jay's hopefulness, Tyler would have admitted that he harbored serious doubts about the possibility of bringing down the Fourth Branch, whatever that was. Tyler had the benefit (if one wanted to call it that) of having grown up around powerful, power-hungry men like Jack Freed. Hell, his father was one such man. And Tyler knew in his bones that men like Freed did not topple easily from their thrones. Their whole lives were spent not just accruing but securing power, money, and privilege, surrounding themselves by people who would, for love or profit, do anything, no matter how despicable, to protect them. They were like spiders sitting inside big, fat webs, nigh untouchable to anyone who wasn't a bigger, meaner spider.

_And who are we? An idealistic lawyer-to-be, a stupid rich kid, and a disavowed spy. Not exactly the stuff nightmares are made of…_

The computer was in the living room, facing the bank of monitors. Tyler pulled a kitchen chair up beside Jay, who sat in the over-sized rolling desk chair with Will's list on the desk in front of him. It suddenly struck Tyler how impersonal the house was: No pictures, no books, no socks left lying about. He wasn't sure why, but somehow, he had thought the hideout, whenever they reached it, might offer some clues as to who Will Traveler really was.

_Maybe this is the clue: He isn't really anybody._

The sense of loss threatened to engulf Tyler again. He had counted on Will in ways he wasn't sure even Jay could understand; of all the people Tyler had ever known, only Will had seemed to take him truly at face value, without caring one iota about the money or connections Tyler could provide. Over the last two years, they had sat over beers in The Castle's kitchen late into the night many times discussing Tyler's complicated relationship to his father. Now, Tyler knew logically those conversations had been nothing more than part of the mission to Will – what was it he had said about his dead father story, that it had made Jay "identify" with him? – yet he couldn't shake the suspicion that Will had actually cared, and that the biggest part of him still did.

It was like trying to figure out where fire stopped and smoke began, discerning who Will was and who he had pretended to be. Tyler wasn't certain even Will knew that.

"Here we go." Jay had typed the name "Vivian Buchanan" into Google and returned dozens of hits. "Vivian Buchanan, CEO of Belenus Pharmaceuticals, based in Miami," Jay read off the screen, skimming through the headlines. Suddenly, he stopped and clicked on a link, groaning as the page opened. "Holy shit."

Tyler knew the feeling. Less than forty-eight hours ago, he had confronted incontrovertible proof of his father's involvement with Freed while staring at a computer screen. Somehow, seeing Vivian Buchanan, a WASP-ish middle-aged woman, shaking hands with Freed at an AIDS benefit on the society pages of the _Miami Herald _didn't shake him up too badly.

"Looks like we've got our first lead," he mused, clapping Jay on the back. "So…How about another beer?"

**Part 4**

Agent Jan Marlow spent her partner's funeral fighting the impulse to leap over the casket and attack Fred Chambers. She barely heard the priest's eulogy; she perfunctorily hugged Borjes' mother and sisters; she scarcely noticed the military salute at the graveside. All of her grief was channeled into rage at the man whom she knew had ordered her own murder and whom she strongly suspected was the real culprit behind Borjes' death.

It was only afterwards, sitting behind the wheel of her car in her garage, that the enormity of both her loss and the predicament she was in hit Marlow full-force.

The priest's words echoed in her ears: _"Guillermo Borjes served his country with honor and distinction, both with the military and with the FBI. He will be remembered by all as a hero."_

_No, _she wanted to say. _He'll be remembered as a friend. A damn good friend. And maybe something more, if we hadn't been so professional all the time…_

That way lay madness, Marlow knew, so she slammed the lid on such thoughts. Whatever feelings she had hidden from Borjes, they wouldn't help her to survive, and she was determined not to let Chambers win. That meant staying alive.

Numb with grief and the exhaustion of the past week, Marlow climbed out of her car and stepped into her kitchen, thinking longingly of a hot shower and a glass of wine. If she could relax a little, maybe she could find some perspective –

"Agent Marlow, please don't be alarmed."

Hand on the light-switch, Marlow automatically reached for the gun holstered at her hip only to recall a second later that she had not worn her side-arm to the funeral. Not only would it have been highly inappropriate, she hadn't trusted herself not to blow Chambers' head off during the service. Now, she cursed herself for foolishly believing Chambers wouldn't make another attempt on her life so soon after Borjes' death.

"Please, turn on the light," the intruder said kindly.

Marlow flipped the switch and slowly turned, expecting to find a gun trained on her. But the woman standing beside her kitchen table appeared to be unarmed, and her hands were raised in the universal posture of surrender.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?" Marlow demanded, her voice brittle with trepidation. She edged toward the kitchen counter, where her .25-caliber pistol lay just where she had left it that morning.

The woman made no move to stop her. "I'm sorry we have to meet like this. My name is Kaitlyn Westbrook. I'm a CIA operative."

Marlow snatched up the gun, checked that it was loaded, and without hesitation trained it on the woman. "Put your hands on top of your head and lace your fingers together," she commanded. The woman obeyed. "Now get on your knees and put your forehead to the floor. Do Not Move."

Uncomplaining, the woman patiently submitted to being frisked. She carried no weapons, not even a can of pepper-spray. Satisfied yet still wary, Marlow ordered her to stand and move into the living room, where she waved her onto the sofa and seated herself in a fan-backed chair.

"CIA, huh?" Marlow, taking in the woman's self-possession, almost believed her. She was probably in her mid- to late-thirties, although she was so trim and athletic she could easily have passed for a much younger woman if she hadn't looked so thoroughly exhausted at the moment. Her long, wavy blondish-brown hair was pulled back in a sensible ponytail, but even that and her non-descript jeans and white tee-shirt couldn't disguise her attractiveness. Still, she was obviously trying very, very hard to blend in with a crowd.

"And what does a CIA operative want with me?"

"I know you've been investigating the Drexler bombing. I know you have your doubts about Jay Burchell and Tyler Fog's guilt."

Sensing dangerous waters, Marlow decided to be noncommittal. For all she knew, this woman worked for or with Chambers. Could he be trying a new tactic, perhaps attempting to frame Marlow for allowing Burchell and Fog to escape? She wouldn't put it past him, not at this point. Hell, she wouldn't have put it past him before, he was such a weasel.

"Burchell and Fog are our primary suspects, but yes, I think the Drexler bombing may be more complicated than just a plot between the two of them." Marlow held the woman's gaze. "But this is an FBI matter, not CIA."

"Technically, yes."

"Legally, you mean." Marlow refused to be daunted by the lurking authority of the Central Intelligence Agency; she worked for an equally powerful bureau. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Kaitlyn Westbrook."

"Maybe we should call your supervisor, Agent Westbrook, and see if the CIA has sanctioned this visit."

"No one at the CIA will confirm my identity. I'm black ops."

Marlow experienced a momentary panic. She knew whatever Will Traveler had involved his friends in was big, possibly even huge, yet she could never have anticipated finding herself in a face-to-face interview with a black ops CIA operative. If the woman was who she said she was, of course, and Marlow couldn't help rejoining with some skepticism, "Pretty convenient to give yourself an identity I can't confirm, 'Agent' Westbrook."

The woman smiled sympathetically. "I know I've put you in an impossible position, Agent Marlow. It's not something I wanted to do. But I don't have any other choice. I don't know who else to turn to." She licked her lips, looking frightened – what worried Marlow was that she seemed to be trying not to. "I don't know how far up the ladder this plot goes, but I'm afraid it might be all the way."

A heavy silence descended between them. Marlow was torn between believing the woman and dismissing her as either a plant or a fraud. She could imagine Chambers wanting to feel out how much she knew, yet this seemed an impractical way for him to do so; surely if he wanted to pry information out of a seasoned agent like Marlow, he wouldn't try to make her buy some cloak-and-dagger story about government conspiracies. The very absurdity of the woman's claims lent them an odd sort of credence.

Apparently reading Marlow's continued silence as encouraging, the woman went on, "I can't offer you proof of who I am, Agent Marlow, but I can prove myself to you, if you'll hear me out."

Marlow considered this. What could be the harm in listening to an unarmed woman, even if she was spinning a ridiculous tale? She settled back in the chair, keeping her gun in her lap but turning the muzzle away toward the wall. "All right," she conceded. "I'm listening."

The woman took a deep, steady breath, as if preparing to lay bare secrets she had held in for years. "Fifteen years ago, I joined the CIA as a clandestine operative. Ten years ago, I was assigned to a black ops mission – totally off the books – to investigate a group known as the Fourth Branch."

Marlow held up a hand. "The Fourth Branch…Doesn't that refer to the will of the people keeping the other three branches of government in line?"

"Historically, yes," the so-called Agent Westbrook replied. "But this group is much different than that. We – the CIA – had reason to believe that very powerful, very influential people at the highest levels of government, industry and society were part of this group, and that they were using their money, power and influence to perpetuate acts of war and terror against American targets at home and abroad, with the intention of manipulating public sentiment and thereby public policy."

_Conspiracy theory bullshit. _

Marlow's disbelief must have shown on her face, because Westbrook smirked. "I know. It sounds like something out of a bad Tom Clancy novel, doesn't it? I thought so, too, until I went undercover as an assistant to Jack Freed."

Freed – the Homeland Security director who had been obliterated in a car bombing, another act of domestic terrorism blamed on Burchell and Fog…

_Though why they would risk staying in the city to murder a high-ranking Homeland Security official when they could be safe in Mexico or Canada by now is beyond me…_

Marlow sat up a little straighter. "Ten years ago," she mused, "Freed would have been…"

"Deputy Director of the FBI," Westbrook supplied, nodding. "I was assigned to investigate how he was using his authority in that position, whether or not he had any connections to this Fourth Branch. And what I found was…terrifying."

Marlow tried to wrap her mind around the possibility that the very agency she worked for, the agency she had devoted her life to and that her closest friend had given his life for, was actually behind the crimes she tried to prevent. She was unsettled by how easy it was to entertain this possibility given what she knew about Chambers, a company man through-and-through.

"Like I said, for the last ten years, I've been on a deep cover assignment," Westbrook was saying. "I impressed Freed, convinced him to bring me into his circle of confidantes. When he left the FBI for Homeland Security, I and several other associates followed him – off the books and off the record, like most of our employment had been for him. I'd built quite a case against Freed before then, but after he left the FBI, things really started to get scary."

Marlow interrupted, mind spinning. "If you had a case against Freed, why not take him down? Maybe all of this could have been prevented, the Drexler and…" She stopped, picturing Borjes' dark eyes smiling at her across his desk.

Westbrook stared down at her hands folded in her lap. She looked tired and sad. "I followed orders. And my orders were to keep using my relationship with Freed to build a case against other members of the Fourth Branch. No matter how much he trusted me, Freed always played his cards close to the chest – in ten years, I learned a lot about the Fourth Branch, but he would have been the only person I could prove was involved in anything illegal, let alone treasonous.

"But it felt wrong," she admitted, her voice dipping slightly, rough with emotion. "To let him do…the things he was doing. To let him keep planning, and plotting, knowing everyday that soon at least one of those plots was going to be carried out."

"You mean the Drexler."

Westbrook nodded. "You see, Agent Marlow, I was one of Will Traveler's handlers."

Marlow nearly fell off of her chair. She pictured a handsome young man in an alleyway, coolly pointing a gun at her head; she saw again Jay Burchell's tortured blue eyes, heard the desperation in Tyler Fog's voice. Will Traveler, the lynch-pin in all of this, had been in this woman's employ?

"Who is he?" Marlow demanded. "And how is he connected to all of this?"

Westbrook's expression took on a faraway look that gave Marlow pause, reminding her of her own illicit feelings for a partner. "I met the man who calls himself Will Traveler four years ago. He was one of the most gifted operatives I've ever encountered. He was also a patriot, a true believer, and Freed used that against him. He used it against a lot of people who thought they were working for the good of the country."

She passed a hand over her eyes. "Agent Marlow, if I keep talking, if I keep telling you this, you have to know I'm putting you in a tremendous amount of danger."

Recalling bullets whipping past her head inside a tastefully-decorated suburban home, Marlow bit back a sour grin. "I'm up for it."

"Are you sure?" Westbrook raised her periwinkle-blue eyes to Marlow's brown ones, her pretty face clouded. "I'm here because I'm on the run, not just from the Fourth Branch, but from the CIA. I faked my own death, Agent Marlow, but not very convincingly – before long, people are going to figure out that I'm still alive, and those people are going to want to shut me up, along with anybody I've talked to."

Marlow shivered involuntarily. To have the power of the FBI, CIA, and this Fourth Branch come down on her…She was good, but not that good.

"So what do you want me to help you do?" she demanded. "Why come to me?"

Westbrook considered for a moment, as if debating whether she should reveal her endgame. At last, seeming to resign herself to the fact that her fate was in Marlow's hands, she said simply, "You're the only person I trust to help me find the one man who may be able to fix all of this."

Marlow didn't have to wait for Westbrook to say it; she already knew. "Will Traveler."


	2. Chapter 2

**Episode 2:**

"**The Hideout"**

**Part 1**

Jay was standing on the front porch when the stolen silver sedan Will was driving pulled up to the house. Before the car had come to a full stop, Kim was bounding out of the passenger's seat toward him. Jay took the porch steps in a single leap and met her halfway to the house, catching her up and swinging her feet off the ground in an exultant hug.

"I thought I'd never see you again," she sobbed into his shoulder. "When you ran out of the club…"

"God, I'm sorry I couldn't get to you." Jay set Kim back on her feet and peppered her face with kisses until she laughed. "I thought you'd be safe. I didn't know the FBI was involved, I swear."

Will was driving on toward the barn where the stolen pick-up was already hidden. Turning to watch him go, Kim wiped tears off her cheeks. Jay noted with relief that while she looked tired she was, as Will had promised on the phone, unharmed.

"It's okay. I was the one who wanted you to go to the feds, remember? It's as much my fault as anyone's that things ended up so badly."

She stepped back and gazed at the house. "So, where the hell are we, anyway?"

Jay took her hand. "Will's summer house," he joked. "Also known as the hideout of America's Most Wanted Fugitives."

They grinned at one another. Jay knew they were thinking the same thing: If we can't laugh, we'll go crazy.

Just then, Tyler came out the front door, yawning and stretching. The sun had risen hours ago; Tyler had finally fallen asleep on the couch just before dawn, while Jay had combed through dozens of web pages, seeking out connections between the names Will's informants had provided and the Fourth Branch. What he had learned would probably have kept him awake even if he hadn't been waiting desperately for the call telling him Kim was safe, which had finally come around four in the morning.

"Everybody okay?" Tyler asked, hugging Kim quickly.

Jay noted the frostiness with which Kim regarded Tyler and knew why: the girl, Liz. Sure enough, Kim returned testily, "Yes, Tyler, _everybody _is okay."

Tyler arched a quizzical eyebrow at Jay. "I should have woken you," Jay apologized, regretting that he hadn't given his friend a head's-up. While he didn't agree with Tyler's behavior any more than Kim did, he also hated to see his best friend be steamrolled on the heels of so many successive shocks – Will's betrayal, Carlton Fog's, the FBI's.

"Listen, uh, did you sort of…hook up with some girl while we were separated this week?"

A tell-tale flush crept over Tyler's cheeks. "Yeah. What's that got – "

At that moment, the barn door open and Will came out, carrying a slender brunette. Tyler's jaw dropped. "But how… How could they… I didn't tell anyone about her!" he blustered.

Kim glared fiercely at him. Jay placed a restraining hand on her arm, not wanting to deal with another one of Tyler and Kim's famous rows on top of everything else.

"Gee, I don't know, Tyler," she observed sarcastically. "Maybe they're the FBI, and they have their ways of getting information."

"Is she okay?" Tyler was calling to Will, ignoring Kim as he stepped off the porch. "Is she hurt?"

Will, who looked even worse than the semi-conscious form in his arms, gladly handed the girl over to Tyler, who scooped her up with a protectiveness that startled Jay.

"She's all right," Will assured them wearily. "She's got a burn on her arm that needs tending, but mostly, she's just unconscious from Valium.

"Let's get inside," he suggested, glancing back toward the woods. Jay knew Will was anxious to look at the monitors in the living room, to ensure that no one was watching them; he experienced a pang of annoyance that Will wouldn't trust him, Jay, to keep an eye on such things.

_Leave it. He's trying to take care of all of you, and he just saved Kim's life._

_Of course, she wouldn't have needed saving if it weren't for him…_

Tyler carried the girl, Liz, upstairs, presumably to one of the bedrooms where she could rest more comfortably. Jay and Kim trailed Will into the living room where, as Jay had predicted, he made a beeline for the monitors.

"Good Christ, Will," Kim muttered, looking around with the same bewildered amazement Jay had experienced upon entering the house. "Expecting an invasion?"

"Let's hope not." Will grimaced slightly as he leaned over the desk, reading the notes Jay had left. In spite of himself, Jay was worried for his friend; that gunshot wound had looked nasty, no matter how nonchalant Will acted about it.

"This is good," Will commented to Jay, tapping the notepad with his forefinger. "This is really good, Jay. Exactly what we need."

Kim peered over Jay's shoulder. "That looks complicated," she observed. Jay was proud of the detailed diagram of names, businesses, and affiliations he had begun to draw, but he understood how it could be confusing to someone who had no clue what it referred to. "I take it this has something to do with those answers you owe me, Will?"

But Will was sinking down onto the couch, pale from fatigue. "Maybe Jay can take over from here," he suggested, closing his eyes. "I'm so tired."

Jay's worry threatened to become an all-out panic. Will's color was poor; whether from exhaustion, blood loss, infection, or something else, Jay had no idea. He tried to reassure himself that Will would tell them if he was really injured, if he needed a doctor, because he had to realize that without him, they were sitting ducks.

This helped allay Jay's fears until he suddenly recalled that Will had walked six blocks without mentioning a gunshot wound in his belly.

Seating himself on the coffee table so that he was facing Will, Jay demanded sternly, "No bullshit, Will. How bad are you hurt?"

Without opening his eyes, Will answered, "Not bad. But I'm touched that you care, Jay, I really am," he added with a wry smile.

"Hurt?" Kim plopped down beside Jay, perplexed. "When did you get hurt, Will?"

Jay was somehow unsurprised that tough-guy, super-spy Will had neglected to inform Kim of his injury. "He got shot," Jay began.

With a shriek, Kim jumped to her feet. "You got _shot_?" she demanded of Will, who opened his eyes and bestowed a thank-you-so-much glower on Jay. "And you didn't think this was something I needed to know?"

"Not really."

Jay hid a grin behind his hand. Will and Kim had never butted heads before; Will had always let her have her way.

She looked mutinous. Hands on hips, she glared down at Will. "I see. And you didn't think that maybe if I'd known, I could have done some of the driving while you rested?"

"No offense, Kim, but I've seen you drive. I think we were safer with me at the wheel, gunshot and all."

At that, Jay couldn't help but laugh. Will smirked.

Kim immediately rounded on Jay. "Glad this is funny to you both," she snapped. To Will, she ordered, "Let's see, then."

"I'm fine – "

"Will, we can do this easy or we can do this hard. I am not above having Jay hold you down," she warned.

"Just do it," Jay advised. He had encountered enough of Kim's stubbornness to know arguing was pointless. Besides, Will's wound did need to be checked; he really looked unwell, despite his ability to crack jokes through pain.

Reluctantly, Will unfastened the buttons on his shirt and shrugged it off his shoulders. The gauze he had taped over his wound was stained with rust-colored blood. Kim sat on the couch beside him, easing him forward so she could check the exit wound in his back– or was it the entrance wound, Jay wondered, seeing as how they'd been running away when Marlow fired at them?

_Not that it matters, a bullet is a bullet._

"The bleeding looks worse back here," Kim noted.

"Yeah, I had a little more trouble closing that one up," Will admitted.

"My God, Will, you have to be in pain."

Something in Kim's voice brought Jay's eyes from Will's wound to her face. He was taken aback by what he saw here: an odd mix of tenderness, concern, affection and annoyance, a depth of emotion he hadn't known she felt toward Will. Of his two roommates, Kim had always been more impassioned about Tyler and his antics. But seeing her expression, Jay couldn't help also noticing how gently she rested her hand on Will's side and how protectively she hovered over him.

He suddenly recalled an exchange between Kim and her then-roommate, a giggly red-head named Chloe, at a house party Tyler had thrown two years ago, in celebration of surviving their first year as Yale graduate students….

The house had been packed, as always, because Tyler didn't know how to do anything small, limited budget or not. Jay had seen Kim as soon as she came through the door; she looked drop-dead gorgeous in a sleeveless black dress cut to show off her curves to full effect. Beside her, he thought Chloe looked skinny and childlike in a slinky red number.

"Hey, gorgeous," he greeted Kim, proud as always to be the guy in the room her eyes sought out first. How could he ever have imagined someone so beautiful, so smart, so vivacious would be interested in him, a poor kid from nowhere? He kissed her on the mouth and knew every man in the place wanted to be him.

"Hey, yourself." Kim glanced around with a faint air of disapproval. "Another intimate get-together courtesy of Tyler, I see."

"Ladies!" Tyler chose that moment to materialize out of the crowd. Already half-lit, he swayed over to Chloe, catching her in a hug that was more like a grope. She giggled madly; Jay suspected Chloe had attached herself so firmly to Kim not because they had anything in common – they were both photographers, but Kim was definitely the more serious and talented student – but because she thought the friendship might land her in bed with Tyler Fog. And his money.

_Too bad she doesn't know he's as poor as a church mouse so long as Carlton keeps the purse strings tied off…_

Kim allowed Tyler a quick peck on her cheek. "Damn, you are just the most beautiful thing," he pronounced, stepping back from her. "Jay, your girlfriend is truly hot."

Knowing how Kim disliked being treated as a piece of meat, Jay said quickly, "Thanks. Have you seen Will?"

"Right behind you, my friend, and bearing refreshments." Will appeared behind Tyler, carrying a glass of red wine for Kim – her favorite – and a fruity cocktail for Chloe, who would basically drink anything with alcohol.

"Thanks, Will." Kim offered him a genuine smile quite unlike the polite grimace she always managed for Tyler. "Such a gentleman."

"Thanks," Chloe giggled, batting her eyelashes at Will, who (unlike Tyler) kept his hands decidedly to himself. Jay fought down a grin. He knew Will's opinion of Chloe, and it ran somewhere along the lines of how Kim viewed Tyler.

The five of them moved into the living room of The Castle and cleared off a spot on the couch. Kim sat beside Jay, fingers linked with his; Tyler pulled a fiercely-giggling Chloe onto his lap. Will perched on the arm of the recliner and rolled his eyes at Jay when Tyler and Chloe weren't looking. Jay knew what his friend was thinking: If Tyler knew what was good for him, he would keep it in his pants. Chloe looked to be a difficult girl to shake without the encouragement of a one-night stand to egg her on.

"So, Kim, big plans for the summer?" Will asked.

Kim nodded eagerly. "Yes, actually, I'm going to Rome for a month in July – "

"Rome's fantastic," Tyler put in, sliding a hand up and down Chloe's back. "I went there for my seventeenth birthday. Best nightclubs in Europe, man, I swear."

Stiffly, Kim rejoined, "Well, I'm going with my photography class, so I don't know how many clubs we'll be hitting…"

Will chuckled. Kim smiled back at him. "I'm sure you'll have a great time without clubbing," he assured her. "And I'm sure you'll take some fabulous pictures."

"Oh, Jesus Christ, not this shit again." Tyler was suddenly dumping Chloe rather unceremoniously off his lap; she made a noise somewhere between a growl and a squeak, slopping half her drink down her dress. "I paid these guys off already, what more do they want?"

Jay turned to see campus security standing in the foyer. Will hurriedly stood, waving Jay off. "I'll take care of it," he assured him. To Tyler, he said, "And you, come with me, so we can discuss again why bribing police officers is always a bad idea."

"He's got his hands full," Kim remarked, watching Will saunter over to the officers and begin chatting in his infallibly polite and engaging way. "Keeping Tyler in line is like a full-time job."

Chloe was mopping her spilled drink off her mostly-bare chest with a napkin. "I'll tell you where I'd like to keep him," she piped up.

Kim made a retching noise. "Honestly, Chloe, Tyler Fog is such a player – "

"Oh, c'mon, Kim, Tyler's mostly just talk," Jay defended his friend. Truthfully, Jay disapproved of the casual way Tyler picked up and dropped girls, yet he felt compelled to defend him somewhat against Kim's constant onslaught of criticism. "He's a huge flirt, everybody knows that."

"No, he's really and truly a player." Chloe seemed perfectly accepting of this fact.

"But you still want him?" Kim marveled. She squeezed Jay's hand tightly, as if reassuring herself that she was lucky enough to have captured a good guy.

"Why not? He's good-looking, everybody who knows says he's absolutely amazing in bed, _and_ he's rich. But honestly," she leaned forward as if she were revealing a state secret and said, sotto voice, "if I had my pick – given that Jay's already spoken for, of course – I'd take Will Traveler over Tyler Fog in a heartbeat."

Chloe nodded sagely, like she had just made a profound declaration. "I mean, no offense to Tyler, but that boy is _hot._"

Kim laughed. "Yeah, Jay's always worried about Tyler making a move on me, but I keep telling him, Will's the one the girls can't keep their eyes off of."

Jay pulled her around into a passionate kiss. "I don't care which one of my roommates you think is hotter," he said against her mouth, "so long as I'm the one you can't keep your eyes off of."

She snuggled against him, murmuring into his ear, "As if I could ever want anybody but you, silly…"

Coming back to the present with a jolt, Jay was disgusted with himself for feeling a wave of white-hot jealousy wash over him as Kim, who was now armed with a pan of hot, soapy water and a clean wash clothes, gently dabbed at Will's exposed wound.

"I'm sorry if this hurts," she said, biting her lower lip worriedly.

"It doesn't." Will appeared supremely unconcerned. Then, suddenly, he cried, "Ouch!"

"I'm sorry!" Kim jumped a mile, slopping water all over the floor.

But Will was smirking. "Just kidding."

Looking torn between laughter and tears, Kim playfully smacked Will's shoulder. "Do that again," she threatened, "and this bullet hole will be the least of your worries."

Ten minutes ago, Jay knew their little exchange would have made him laugh, too, just like Will's dig about Kim's driving had. Now, however, the entire scene seemed imbued with subtext as Kim's long-ago words echoed in his mind: _"Will's the one the girls can't keep their eyes off of…"_

_Or did she really mean, "Will's the one I can't keep my eyes off of"?_

Rationally, Jay knew he was being a complete and total idiot. For one thing, they were on the run for their lives – hardly the best time to be starting up an illicit affair. For another, Kim had more than proven her love for him over the last week – not that it had ever been in any doubt.

How many women would endure hours of interrogation by the FBI, risk arrest and imprisonment, for a man they didn't really love?

Yet he couldn't deny that his suspicions had been aroused. He suddenly wished he had insisted on accompanying Will to rescue Kim. Could something have happened between them then, some kind of Guinevere/Lancelot thing brought on by such a dangerous situation?

_Yeah, Burchell, that's really likely. They probably got it on right there in the car, with that poor girl passed out in the backseat…_

Jay ordered himself to snap out of it. No matter what, he would not risk losing Kim because of his tendency toward insane jealousy. And anyway, they all had bigger problems than romance for the time being.

Focusing on the issue at hand, Jay asked Will, "Are you really all right? You don't need a doctor?"

"I just need to sleep," Will answered, sounding bone-weary.

"Lie back." Having finished her ministrations, Kim had left the room momentarily and returned with a blanket and a pillow.

"I can walk upstairs."

"Don't argue with me," Kim commanded. Softening her tone, she added, "Just sleep here for a couple of hours, Will, and then we'll help you upstairs, okay?"

Will gratefully stretched out on the sofa. Kim covered him gently, tucking the blanket around his sides.

_Like any friend would do…_

Will sleepily opened his eyes and caught Jay's gaze. "You'll look after everybody for a little while, right?"

For some reason, it made up for a lot of Jay's earlier jealousy that Will was so ready to count on him to step up while he was out of commission. Jay couldn't imagine Will putting Tyler in charge – and he doubted his two years' ROTC experience was the only factor involved in gaining Will's confidence.

"Rest, Will," Jay instructed, trying to imbue his voice with a confidence he didn't entirely feel. "I'll get us through for now."

Will nodded and shut his eyes, drifting off almost immediately. Kim sank down into Jay's lap and rested her head on his shoulder. "I love you," she murmured into his ear.

"I love you back." Jay held her tightly, deciding that from now on, whenever Kim needed a knight in shining armor, he would just have to be sure that it was him and no one else who came through for her.

**Part 2**

Swimming up out of a thick gray mist, Liz tried futilely to remember where she was and how she had gotten there. Her limbs were so heavy, it was like having lead weights attached to her hands and feet; her brain was so sluggish, she wondered fleetingly if she had been slipped a mickey by one of her patrons.

But no, she hadn't been at work. She had been…

"No!" The memory of a strange, sneering man coming toward her with a raised fist jolted her into wakefulness. Liz sat up so quickly her vision swam, and she collapsed again onto soft pillows.

_Was I dreaming? But then…where the hell am I?_

"Hey, hey, hush, hush, it's okay." A kind male voice spoke from nearby. Liz summoned all of her strength to turn toward it. "You're safe now."

As the stranger's face came into focus, Liz experienced another wave of panic. She knew him – from the television, his face was everywhere, how could she have been so stupid…?

The realization that she was not in her apartment brought the events of the previous night crashing through the drug-induced fog surrounding Liz's brain. She scrambled into a sitting position, drawing her knees protectively to her chest and trying to make herself as small as possible underneath the sheets. What the hell did these people want with her?

"It's okay," Tyler Fog was saying. He looked both alarmed and ashamed by her reaction. "Liz, it's all right, no one is going to hurt you here, I promise."

She ordered herself not to be a weak, shaking coward. "What do you want?" she demanded, infusing her voice with as much vitriol as she could manage. "Who were those guys, from before? They said they were FBI, but…"

Perched on the edge of her bed, Tyler self-consciously toyed with the edge of the sheet. "Technically, they were FBI," he replied. "But they also work for this other organization…Look, it's really complicated, and I'm not sure how involved you want to get in all of this."

"Oh, that's rich," Liz snarled. She really was feeling angry now. "Didn't bother to think about that before you let me take you home, did you?"

Tyler avoided her eyes. "I'm really, really sorry, if that means anything."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't." Liz glared at him until he finally looked at her. "Where's the other girl who was there? And the guy who rescued us?"

"They're here. Uh, Kim's downstairs, and we just carried Will up to bed."

"Are they all right?"

"Yeah, they're both fine."

Relieved, Liz pressed, "And 'here' is where, exactly?"

"Maine. Springstown, Maine." Tyler gestured toward her right arm, which was wrapped in gauze. "I cleaned your burn," he said, as if hoping this would earn him points.

The memory of being tortured broke over Liz like a bucket of cold water. She began trembling again despite her best efforts not to. "I don't understand," she said, her eyes searching Tyler's. "Why would they think I knew where you went?"

"I don't know, Liz. If I'd thought you were in danger, I never would've…" He sighed, his voice trailing off helplessly. "Okay, look, I guess this'll be easier if I just start at the beginning."

Close to an hour later, as late afternoon sunlight slanted through the thin curtains, the last of Liz's drug-induced stupor had given way to shocked horror at Tyler's story. Incredible as it was, she found herself believing it; for one of the richest men in America, Tyler was so surprisingly unprepossessing and sincere it was difficult to doubt his truthfulness.

They sat in silence for a few minutes after Liz ran out of questions and Tyler out of narrative. Her anger had evaporated. In its place rose a mixture of indignation that she had been treated so by the FBI and compassion for the predicament Tyler's "friend" Will had landed him in.

"I can't imagine my whole life just going up in smoke like that," she mused aloud. "You must feel like you're in hell."

"Well, I've definitely had better weeks." Tyler managed a weak grin. "Listen, Will says you need to stay with us for now, for your safety. I'm sure that's not what you wanted to hear, but I promise, we'll look after you until this is all over."

Liz considered Tyler, surprised by how much trust he still seemed to put in this Will Traveler. "My safety, huh?" she parroted. "Not because I know where your hideout is?"

The flush that crept up Tyler's cheeks told her he honestly hadn't thought of it that way. "I don't pretend to understand all of Will's motives," he admitted, tentatively reaching out to cover her fingers with his. Liz found herself simultaneously comforted and excited by his touch; try as she might not to, she couldn't help remembering the feel of his warm, muscular body stretched atop hers. "But my motive is this: to not let anybody hurt you again."

Her heart fluttered, and Liz kicked herself for being, as her friends always chided her, a hopeless romantic. But hey, if a girl was ever going to encounter one Harlequin experience in her life, surely this one qualified?

"All right, I'll stay," she agreed, pleased that Tyler allowed her the fiction of a choice. What was she going to do, run off into the woods? This Will certainly looked to have the skills to keep one simple little bartender under wraps if need be. "Any possibility of a shower and some food for your guest?"

Tyler showed her to a small bathroom across the hall and offered to dredge up clean clothes for her while she bathed. She did a double-take when she glimpsed her reflection: Her nose didn't look broken, in spite of how tender it was, but both of her eyes were ringed in purple-black bruises from the punch she had taken fully to the face.

Alone under the spray, Liz experienced another attack of whole-body shivers, although she was able to regain control of herself much more quickly than before.

_How could anybody do that to another human being? And why? Why would they think I knew where Tyler went?_

Those questions were still circling in her mind when she stepped out into the steamy bathroom to a knock on the door. "Liz? Found you some clothes," Tyler called from the hall.

Liz knotted the towel around her small form and opened the door a crack. Steam billowed into the hallway. She saw Tyler's eyes rake over her, and another thrill of excitement skated down her spine.

_Down girl. This is not the guy to go ga-ga over, no matter how good he is in bed._

And he was, she recalled quite vividly, very good in bed.

"Here you go." He handed over a pair of women's jeans that looked fairly close to Liz's size and a button-down shirt that was obviously his own. "Kim had an extra pair of pants, but the shirt's the best I could do. It's clean," he added hastily.

Liz accepted the garments rather shyly for the fact that Tyler had seen her naked before. "Thanks," she murmured. "I'll be out in a sec, okay?"

With the cloth belt from an old flannel robe to hold the jeans on her slender hips and Tyler's shirt engulfing her – she had to roll the sleeves up six times, and the hem fell below her knees – Liz felt a little bit like a child playing dress-up when she emerged from the bathroom. Tyler looked her up and down appreciatively from the bedroom doorway, though, and playfully tugged at a dark tendril that had escaped her hasty ponytail. "You look cute," he noted. "How's the nose and the arm?"

"Sore and more sore. But mostly I'm starving," Liz answered, holding her stomach, which felt as if small animals were gnawing away at it. "Please tell me there's food?"

"Only the finest cuisine," he assured her, gently placing a hand in the small of her back and guiding her down the stairs. "I think we even have wine to go with our Spaghetti-O's."

Liz giggled. How strange, she reflected, that less than two hours ago this ordeal had seemed so terrifying, and now, she was laughing with an accused terrorist and feeling more at home in his hideout by the minute.

Kim, whom Liz immediately recognized from the previous night, was standing by the sink with a tall, strikingly handsome dark-haired man. Without hesitation, Kim crossed the room and embraced Liz tightly. Tears immediately sprang to Liz's eyes as she hugged back; it was like encountering a long-lost sister.

_You can't go through what we did, even for ten minutes, and not be bonded for life, I suppose…_

"Thank God you're okay," Kim said, releasing her. She turned to the dark-haired man and insisted, "See? I told you, she's this teeny-tiny little thing, and this asshole was twice your size."

"Sounds like Will gave him what he had coming." The man stepped forward and extended his hand to Liz. "I'm Jay," he told her. "Jay Burchell."

"Liz Schultz." She studied him for a moment. "You don't look anything like your picture."

"Yeah, well, he's not very photogenic," Tyler piped up, eliciting a playful punch from Jay. "So what's for supper, Kimmy?"

Half an hour later, Liz was full to bursting of penne paste with tomato basil sauce and two glasses of merlot. Jay, Tyler and Kim were seated with her around the kitchen table, all equally full and, she sensed, perhaps a little buzzed, except for Jay who had only sipped ice water with his meal. Their conversation had wandered wildly, from Liz's aspirations to be a fashion designer – she was enrolled at NYU, paying the bills by tending bar – to Jay's take as a lawyer on the Patriot Act to Tyler's ill-fated plan to use his father's connections to escape the country.

"I just can't believe your own father would sell you out," Liz said, placing a consoling hand on Tyler's arm. "That's so… I don't even have a word for what that is."

"How about your family, Liz?" Jay asked, frowning with concern. "They must be going crazy with worry right now."

Toying with a strand of hair, Liz decided nothing she could reveal to her fellow fugitives would lower her too much in their estimation, given the mess they were all in together. "I doubt it. My mom died when I was really little – cancer – and my dad's been in prison for, like, ever. Armed robbery," she explained, seeing Kim's quizzical expression. "I barely remember him. My grandmother raised me, but she has Alzheimer's now, so she won't know I'm not coming to visit like always on Sunday."

Tyler linked his fingers with hers under the table and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "You want to talk about colorful family trees, you should see mine," he commiserated.

"Or mine," Jay confessed.

"My family's spotless," Kim joked, and they all laughed.

Laughter accompanied them throughout cleaning up the dishes, playing a game of Uno with an ancient deck of cards Jay scrounged out of a kitchen drawer, and polishing off the bottle of wine around ten o'clock. At last, Jay – who, Liz noted, had still accepted no wine or beer, while Tyler was three sheets to the wind before sunset – stood, stretched, and announced, "I'm going up to check on Will. He hasn't moved in almost twelve hours."

Kim jumped up. "Oh my God, you don't think…?"

Liz's heart constricted in fear, and she didn't even know Will. But Jay planted a loving kiss on Kim's forehead and assured her, "I think it'd take more than one little gunshot to bring Will Traveler down, Kim. He's had less sleep than all of us this week, and even though I hate to admit it, I think he's been through more. He just needs the rest."

"I'll come with you," Kim said, as if she needed to see for herself that their friend was alive and well. To Liz, she inquired, "Do you need anything? We can double-up if you'd be more comfortable."

Tyler cleared his throat. "We'll manage," he told her pointedly.

Liz blushed but didn't argue. She couldn't say at what point in the evening it had been decided that she and Tyler would share bed, but even though neither of them had mentioned it, she knew that was the case.

Kim hugged Liz good-night and kissed Tyler chastely on the cheek. Watching her and Jay ascend the staircase arm-in-arm, Liz couldn't help being slightly envious of how much in love they were. "She's lucky," she commented to Tyler, lying back on the couch and plopping her bare feet into his lap. "He dotes on her."

"It's mutual." Tyler slipped his thumb under the cuff of her jeans and rubbed a slow circle above her ankle.

Liz shivered – this time, not from fear. The look in Tyler's eyes told her plainly what he wanted. "So," she began, feeling (and sounding) shaky, "is there some doting girlfriend waiting on you somewhere?"

"There was." Tyler's honesty surprised her. "I was involved for over a year with a girl named Nell. But it ended before all of this."

"Oh." Liz admitted to herself that she was quite happy that Nell, whoever she was, was no longer in the picture. "Why?"

"Well, see, I have this habit of being a complete asshole and thinking that everyone around me is only interested in my family's money and power."

_Again with the brutal honesty. I kind of like that, actually…_

Liz didn't know why she had assumed Tyler Fog would be deceitful. After all, his first act upon meeting her had been to try to tell her who he was: _"Yeah, I'm him," _he had said, only putting in the "man of your dreams" line after she, clueless because she had been too busy all week to do more than glance at the news, hadn't gotten his reference to the Drexler bombing. Apparently, he believed in truthfulness, even to a fault.

"Liz." Tyler gently slipped out from underneath her feet and came to kneel beside the couch, tracing her jaw with his fingertip. She shivered again. "Look, I'm not exactly in a position here to be getting involved with someone, so if you want to tell me to fuck off, I completely understand."

"You know, sixteen hours ago, I would have done just that," Liz replied. "But you know what? I believe you, Tyler. I don't think you or Jay had anything to do with the Drexler blowing up, and I don't think you deserve any of these awful things that have happened to you."

She sat up, caught his chin in her hand and kissed him firmly, passionately, on the mouth, loving how his body instantly responded to her touch. "I'm with you," she whispered against his mouth, "from here on out, mmkay?"

Tyler's response was to kiss her so deeply she lost her breath. Head spinning, she allowed him to sweep her into his arms and carry her up the steps to the bedroom, just like a hero in a novel.

**Part 3**

_"Will! He's got a gun, Will!" _

_Maya was screaming, hands reaching out to him in the dark, palms sliding across his chest. He reached for her but slipped away, down down down into a bottomless abyss, unable to pull her after him. _

_"Will! He's got a gun, Will!"_

_He could see nothing, hear nothing, except her panicked cry, echoing over and over a gun before the final, terrible gunshot…_

"Maya!"

Will sat bolt up-right in bed, sweat pouring down his sides, heart stumbling painfully behind his ribs. It took him nearly a minute to remember where he was – not in Kate's hotel room listening to Maya being murdered, but in Springstown, at a safe-house he had prepared six months ago out of an abundance of caution.

_Because deep down, I knew our plan would never work – I knew Maya and I would never just get on that boat and sail away. I just wouldn't let myself believe it…_

Moonlight bathed the grass outside his window. Will pulled the curtain back a hair and peered into the silvery darkness: Nothing stirred. Still, he needed to be certain; he couldn't risk letting all of his friends be captured because he was too tired to contemplate descending the steps.

The house was silent. Will quietly checked the bedroom to the left of his – not surprisingly, Tyler and the girl, Liz, were curled up together like cats – and the one across the hall, where Kim slept with her head on Jay's chest, tawny-colored curls splayed over his bare skin. Will experienced a momentary annoyance that Jay had gone to bed after promising to look after everyone, though he swept the feeling aside instantly. None of them were any good exhausted, and really, it was his responsibility, not Jay's, to keep them safe.

_You make the mess, you clean it up._

Sleep had improved Will's physical and mental condition immeasurably. His wound was still sore; he could feel the skin pulling and stretching beneath his bandages, and if he moved too suddenly, a stabbing pain shot through the tissue that had been torn apart by Marlow's bullet. But he was better, clearer, sharper, he sensed at once.

The monitors in the living room showed nothing more sinister than a doe and her fawn prowling the edge of the barn. Will warmed a can of vegetable soup on the stove and popped the lid off a Heineken. Technically, he should have eschewed alcohol for the duration of this mission, but he decided what the hell – if one beer put him off his game, he deserved to be killed.

Returning to the living room, he sat down at the computer and logged onto the Internet, checking the various and sundry email addresses and bogus websites through which his informants often contacted him. He hit pay-dirt almost immediately: The in-box for his kerouacroad screenname contained two messages, one encrypted.

Going the easy route first, Will opened the unencrypted message, sent by an informant (an ex-con whose family Will, under the name Daniel Taft, had protected from mob bosses when the man gave evidence against them) who had always proven reliable. His stomach dropped as he read the message:

_Daniel – You asked for info on Fog. Thought you should know he was shot while being taken into federal custody today. Still alive but critical. – Joe_

Cursing under his breath, Will wondered when the universe was going to cut them a break. Carlton Fog's death would only serve to complicate matters; not only would it add to Tyler's burden, but it would also deprive them of a potentially rich source of information about the Fourth Branch, to which Will knew Carlton's ties ran deep. At least the old bastard was still fighting. If Will's former employers wanted him dead, though, Will knew Carlton's days were numbered.

_And how do I tell Tyler that his father may be dying but he can't go to him?_

Finding no easy answer to this quandary, Will decided to focus on questions he could answer for the moment. He didn't recognize the sender's address on the second, encrypted message, a fact that gave him significant pause. If his luck continued as it had been, the file would probably turn out to be some sort of tracer program that would lead the feds directly to their hideout. It was a testament to how desperately he needed information that he chose to open the file anyway.

Once the decryption sequence finished, a video file popped up. Will slipped on a pair of headphones so as not to broadcast the message to the entire household – he was still monitoring his companions' access to information, for their own safety – and pressed 'play.'

He nearly fell off his seat as Agent Jan Marlow's face came into focus on a grainy video that had obviously been filmed by a low-res webcam. Her voice, however, came through loud and clear:

"Will Traveler, my name is Jan Marlow. I'm a Special Agent with the FBI field office in New York City."

_Yeah, _Will wanted to say to her image, _I remember you. Got the hole in my side as a souvenir._

"You're probably wondering how I got this email address. I'm told that this recording equipment has some sort of polygraph sensor, something about a retinal scan or how many times I blink or something, so you should be able to tell that I'm being honest with you."

Will's eyes flicked to the bottom of the video file. Sure enough, a retinal sensor that correlated eye movement with brain function, targeting centers of the brain dedicated to the mental work of lying, scrolled across the bottom. Without overlooking that the file could have been tampered with, Will noted that Marlow's scan gave every indication that she was telling the truth.

"I've been approached by someone who claims to have been investigating Jack Freed for the past decade. This person doesn't want me to reveal much about them on tape, but so far, everything they have told me about the Fourth Branch and Hometown and the Drexler has proven to be true."

Mind swimming with possibilities, Will tried to pinpoint who might have been a mole inside Freed's organization – not to mention who the mole might have been spying for. He couldn't come up with a single name; Freed's people were all insanely loyal.

_Unless somebody had a secret agenda, like me…After all, how well do we ever really know people?_

"Mr. Traveler, I think you and I need to meet. I have reason to believe that my boss, Special Agent in Charge Fred Chambers, is involved with the Fourth Branch. I know he ordered a man named Joseph Campbell to kill me, and I think he may have either killed or ordered the killing of my partner, Guillermo Borjes."

On the tape, Marlow paused, and Will could see her struggling with tears. He felt for her, knowing how closely FBI agents worked together. Losing a partner was like losing family.

Mastering her emotions, Marlow went on, "It's not safe for any of you, not you or Jay or Tyler, to come in. If Chambers is involved, anyone could be. My contact says you'll know how to organize a safe meeting, and I should let you do so and wait for you to get in touch with me. So…I'll be waiting."

The message ended, the scan still showing that Marlow was, at least to her knowledge, telling the truth. Of course, that didn't rule out the possibility that she herself was being played by this supposed undercover agent. Nevertheless, Marlow presented by far the best option for proving the existence of the Fourth Branch and the innocence of his friends that Will had run across since Freed went up in a self-sacrificial fireball.

Will sat in front of the computer for a long time, nursing his Heineken, reviewing Jay's amazingly thorough research notes, and going over and over their predicament in his mind. Marlow's message coupled with the names, companies, backgrounds and connections Jay had uncovered combined to deeply unsettle him. Will knew he was good, but they were up against something now that was well beyond his power to tackle alone.

_So what the hell am I doing? Why aren't we running for it?_

_Because they'd never let us go, _he answered his own question. _These people will find us. We might be safe for a month, a year, five years – but someday, they would catch up to us._

Every instinct told Will to stay hidden. If they did that, however, how could they ever secure their freedom? Jay had been right when he had said that laying low and exposing the Fourth Branch were mutually exclusive. They could fly under the radar to a certain extent, but if they weren't all willing to disappear forever in the slender hopes that they would never be caught up to, they would inevitably be forced into taking some chances in order to get the information they needed.

In a past life, one that had ended abruptly with the destruction of the Drexler Museum, Will would simply have made the decision himself and sold it to the others. He was a damn good agent; he could convince just about anyone of just about anything. But his life wasn't the only one on the line here. It wasn't even the most important one on the line. So, although it was against his nature to share authority or responsibility, he knew he had to put any decisions about their next move before the group.

One thing Will did decide for the group, however, was to keep the information about Carlton Fog's life-threatening injury to himself for the time being. Knowing about it would do Tyler no good; he couldn't go to his father, obviously, and Will understood that Tyler's emotions about Carlton were conflicted enough without adding the possibility of Carlton's imminent death to the mix. Once their plan of action had been settled, Will promised himself, he would bite the bullet and tell Tyler about his father. For now, they had more pressing concerns to deal with.

Shortly after sunrise, Jay and Kim came down the stairs hand-in-hand, looking so in love Will experienced the loss of Maya like a physical blow. Kim instantly uncoupled from Jay and hurried over to the couch, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Are you still sick?" she asked, feeling his forehead like he was a small child with the flu. "Have you been up all night?"

_Nice to have someone who cares so much…_

"I think you missed your calling, Florence Nightingale," Jay teased her. To Will, he asked, "What's up?"

"You mind to go wake Tyler and the girl? There's something you need to see."

Twenty minutes later, all clutching steaming cups of coffee, the five of them settled in at the kitchen table to discuss Marlow's message. The girl, Liz, seemed content to defer to the others, which Will – who winced inwardly at the sight of her bruised eyes and bandaged arm, wishing he could have caused the son of a bitch who had gleefully tortured her even more pain than he had – thought spoke to her good sense, considering that she had only been involved in this nightmare for two days whereas the rest of them had lived it for a very, very long week and a half.

Tyler posed the most obvious question: "Can we do this meeting without giving away where we are?"

"Yes," Will confirmed with a nod. "Wherever we meet, it won't even be in the state, so this place will stay hidden."

"Do you trust her?" Kim asked the next-most obvious question.

Will shrugged. "I don't distrust her. I dug around in her personnel file, what I could safely get into online last night. She's a good agent. But you've had more exposure to her," he added, looking between Jay and Kim. "What's your take on her?"

"I liked her," Kim admitted, "before she shot you."

Jay smiled at that. "Me, too. And I know it's not saying much, but I still trust her a lot more than anybody else I know of in the FBI."

Will waited for more discussion. When none came, he reasoned, "We've really only got three choices here, the way I see it. One, we can stay here, not respond to this message, and try to figure out another way to find out who all was involved in the Drexler plot and what they want with all of us now. Two, we can go meet with Marlow and see what help she and this undercover operative can offer us."

He took a deep breath. _Moment of truth._

"Or, we can try to disappear. Get out of the country and hope nobody looks too hard for us."

Tyler immediately shook his head. "No way. The last plan that involved leaving the country almost got Jay and me killed."

Liz looked frightened by that revelation. "I say no to that, too," she piped up, scooting closer to Tyler. Will suspected she would do whatever Tyler did, and that made her fairly easily to predict, since Tyler would probably do whatever Will and Jay decided.

Turning to Jay, Will prompted, "Jay?"

"Like you said, I like to fix things. I'm not going anywhere until I figure this out."

Will's eyes moved to Kim. "Kim?"

"You know my answer. I'm not going anywhere without Jay," Kim declared firmly.

Will thought he saw Jay flinch. He sympathized, although the fact of the matter was, it would be much better for all of them to stick together.

"Okay, so, if we're not going to run away from this, then we have to decide whether to take a chance on Marlow or go it alone." Will looked at each of them in turn, seeing and appreciating their inner conflicts. Their lives hung in the balance of a terribly unclear decision.

At length, Tyler volunteered, "I'm for meeting with Marlow. I think if we can do it without giving away our hideout here, then if things go bad, we've got somewhere to run, and we can strike out on our own."

Rather reluctantly, Jay nodded his agreement. "I think so, too. We can't really pass up the possibility that she knows someone or something that can help us, right?"

All eyes went to Will, who understood that he was still the final authority despite his best intentions to let them each decide their own fate. Well, if that was how they wanted it, so be it – it certainly made life simpler for him.

"Okay," he determined without hesitation. "Kim, Liz, you two will stay here and keep working on the leads we've already generated. No arguments," he tabled, seeing Kim's defiant expression. "We shouldn't leave this place unguarded, and anyway, we need to be working on Plan B in case Marlow turns out to be a bust."

"Will they be safe here?" Tyler asked.

"Guys, none of us are all that safe anywhere." Will decided it was time to put the hard truth before them. "For all we know, the Fourth Branch is breathing down our necks as we speak. But, yes, Tyler, I think Liz and Kim will be as safe here as anywhere."

Liz caught Tyler's hand and smiled bravely at him. "It's okay," she told him. "I'm not scared here."

"Me either," Kim spoke up.

"So, what happens now?" Jay asked.

Will stood, feeling the rush of heady excitement that always preceded the start of a new mission. "Now, I let Agent Marlow know we're coming."

**Part 4**

Kim couldn't believe she was about to send Jay off into mortal danger for the third time in less than ten days. Or that, once again, she was being forced to stay behind.

In the bedroom they were sharing, she angrily stuffed his clean socks, shirts and jeans into a black duffel bag. "This is just ridiculous," she ranted to Jay, who was seated on the bed, watching her pack. "We should stick together. Every time we split up, it ends in disaster."

"The whole situation is a disaster, Kim. Will is just trying to protect us."

"Don't defend him to me right now." Kim knew she shouldn't have been so furious with Will, because Jay was right – he was, she believed deep down, only doing what he thought was best. Only, who was to say Will knew what that was? Much as she hated to say it, hadn't he made some pretty serious miscalculations up to this point?

Jay stood and took the bag from her, holding her hands in his. "Kim, listen to me. I think you should go."

_Thank goodness he understands how I feel…_

She beamed at him. "Really? But you should have said something before! Now Will's already making plans to meet – "

"No, I didn't mean…Not with us." Jay looked flustered. "I meant, _go. _Disappear, like Will said."

_Okay, apparently he doesn't understand…_

Kim jerked her hands out of Jay's. "We are not having this conversation again. You're not running from this, and I'm not running from this. In case you hadn't noticed, the FBI is after me now, too. I want my life back as badly as you do."

"Kim, you've already been kidnapped. You've already seen someone tortured. If Will hadn't shown up…"

Kim finished Jay's sentence silently: _I would have been next. _She didn't deny, even to herself, the icy wave of terror such a realization sent through her veins. But at the same time, seeing the lengths people like Chambers were willing to go to in protecting their secrets, and hearing from Jay last night what those secrets seemed to be and how awful they could prove for the country, had formed in Kim a resolve not to be intimidated. She was determined to stand up for her innocence and her friends', even if standing up ultimately cost her life.

_You can't blame Jay for wanting you safe. He loves you. You'd do the same for him, if you could get him out of this…_

"Jay." Kim's voice softened. She sat down on the bed and motioned for him to join her. When he did, she pulled his hands into her lap and looked deeply into his eyes. "I understand how serious the situation is. I know the risks – I know what could happen if I stay. But don't you see? I can't leave. I have to see this through, just like you do."

Jay was undeterred. "I'm asking you, for me, to please, please reconsider."

"Please don't put me in this position, Jay. It's not fair."

"What position?" He sounded exasperated. "The position of getting the hell out of here while you still can?"

"The position of not being able to do something 'for you.'" Kim held her own anger in check. Fighting would not help the situation. "I would do anything for you, Jay, anything – but I won't leave. I can't."

"I see." Jay's voice took on an edge that, she suddenly suspected, had nothing to do with exasperation. "And this determination to stay, that's all because of me?"

Kim shook her head, bewildered. Where was this coming from? What was he driving at? "I don't understand what you mean. I don't understand why you're so angry."

"It's nothing to do with Will?"

_Will? What the…?_

Confusion quickly giving way to impatience, Kim folded her arms across her chest. "If you've got something to say, Jay, then just say it, because I don't know what you're on about right now, I swear I don't."

"You're not staying because you don't want to leave Will?"

Understanding descended upon Kim in a flash. For a second, she was too stunned to respond; the idea that Jay would accuse her of straying, of cheating on him, when she had never been anything but loyal – had never given him the slightest reason to doubt her faithfulness – came as such a shock, she almost couldn't process it. A moment later, however, she was racked with guilt, remembering the moment of weakness nearly a year ago when she had, against every other impulse, came oh-so-close to kissing Will. Had Jay intuited that such an encounter had occurred although she had never, ever mentioned it? Had he seen something in her interaction with Will that screamed, _I saw him half-naked and liked what I saw_?

_Wait a second. I was tempted, but I didn't act on it._

Kim's guilt did a U-turn back into righteous indignation. No, it hadn't been right for her to even think about another man the way she had thought about Will for all of five seconds on that strange, fateful evening. But was it realistic to expect that even the most devoted partner would never have a wild impulse, a forbidden desire? Was it reasonable for Jay to hold her to some absurd standard, one which was not only impossible for her to meet but one to which she would never hold him? She was sure Jay had found other women attractive in their three-year courtship; she suspected he had even, once or twice, been tempted to stray, just as she had been. That didn't make him unfaithful, anymore than it did her.

And, more to the point, one lurid thought did not give him the right to accuse her of cheating – especially considering the wreck she had made of her own life in trying to salvage his.

Fury mounting, she replied in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "Yes, Jay, that's exactly it. I'm staying because I'm so desperately in love with Will Traveler. He's the person I've decided to stand beside, come hell or high water. He's the man I've dedicated the last three years of my life to, the man I've built my entire future around. Obviously, that's why I would stay."

To his credit, Jay looked as if he would have liked to take back his words. "Look, Kim, I didn't mean – "

Unfortunately for him, Kim wasn't in the charitable mood. "I know exactly what you meant, Jay Burchell, and don't you dare try to weasel out of it."

Kim stared him down. Jay lowered his eyes, abashed. "I just…I'm sorry, I just wish this wasn't happening. I wish you weren't involved."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Jay. I am involved," Kim shot back. "If you're waiting for me to tell you that I'll do whatever you think I should do, without putting any thought of my own into what's best for me, you obviously don't know me at all. And if you think that you're the only person I have to consider in all of this, you're dead wrong there, too – I do care about you, I would think that would go without saying, but I also care what happens to Tyler, and this poor girl he's drug into all of this, and my father who is probably going out of his mind with worry right now that I've been missing for three days. And yes, Jay, I care what happens to Will, too."

The words poured out of her in a rush. She could see Jay working up one of his famous counterarguments; she could imagine the defenses he would present to disarm her fury. Abruptly, she didn't want to hear it, not any of it. His suggestion that she would be unfaithful – his arrogance in presuming that only his wishes, not hers, mattered in this situation – had struck her to the very core.

"Save it," she snapped, pushing past him toward the door. "Whatever excuses you've got for how you just acted, save it for someone who wants to hear them."

"Kim – "

But she had already slammed the bedroom door behind her, with all the force she could muster. Without stopping to think of anything except escaping somewhere private before her tears spilled over, Kim marched directly across the hall into Will's empty bedroom, kicked the door shut and, as the first sob wrenched out of her, flung herself across the unmade bed.

_Goddamn him, who does he think he is? How could he treat me like that? How could he even think – after everything we've been through, how could he think I could love someone else…?_

Naturally, Kim realized that Jay was under an enormous amount of pressure himself. His entire life had been turned upside down without warning, just as hers had been; he had seen and felt and experienced things in the last week and a half that had to make her own ordeal pale by comparison. She wished she could go back across the hall, wipe out their argument and hold him close. She wished she could forget that he had doubted her, that he had twisted her love for him, her willingness to sacrifice everything for him, her unswerving faith in his innocence, into something disgusting and reproachful. But she couldn't: The hurt was too raw.

Kim was crying so hard she did not hear the door open or footsteps cross the room. She only became aware of Will's presence when he sank down beside the bed and touched her shoulder lightly.

"Kim? You okay?"

He had obviously just come from the shower, for his sandy-colored hair was wet and tousled, his feet bare, his skin damp. Forcing herself into a sitting position, back against the headboard and knees hugged to her chest, Kim looked into Will's handsome, worried face as tears gushed anew from her eyes. Unable to speak around the lump in her throat, she shook her head.

_Goddamn it, I can't believe I'm falling apart in front of him for the second time in two days…He must think I'm a real sop…_

Will moved onto the bed beside her. "It's okay," he soothed, stroking her hair, which was damp from the tears running off her cheeks. "It's okay, just let it out."

He opened his arms, and Kim went into them gladly, thankfully. She sobbed into his shoulder until her tears were spent; she clung to him, shaking, while he gently rubbed her back and murmured that everything would be all right.

_Why can't Jay do this? Why couldn't he just comfort me?_

"I'm okay." Kim forced herself to regain some measure of control. If she didn't, she was afraid she would suffer a complete nervous collapse, and no one would be helped by that. She extracted herself from Will's arms and reclined against the headboard, feeling hollowed out and empty.

"I just…Ugh, this is so stupid. Jay and I had a fight."

"Ah." Will brushed tears off her chin with his thumb. "The infamous Burchell-Doherty temper match. Never a good combo." Kim managed a wan smile.

Will searched her eyes, curious but also restrained. "Wanna talk about it?"

_Not really, but…To you, for some reason, yes, I kind of do._

Once she opened her mouth to speak, however, Kim almost couldn't bring herself to admit what Jay had accused her of. Not only was it horribly awkward, given that Will was her supposed lover, but she was also embarrassed to say aloud that Jay would think such a thing of her. "He, uh, he thinks I….That is, we…"

Her voice trailed off, catching on a suppressed sob. She drew a deep, composing breath and tried again: "He thinks I'm staying because of you. He thinks I'm in love with you, not him."

Will stared at her. He couldn't have looked more surprised if she had declared that Jay had announced his plans to fly to the moon. "Where the hell did he come up with that?"

"I have no idea." Kim buried her face in her hands, digging her knuckles into her swollen eyes. "It doesn't make any sense, Will."

"Well…Maybe it does. A little."

Kim lifted her eyes to his, and for a moment, the memory of that November evening hung between them like a veil: She saw again the heat in Will's eyes, felt the whisper of his lips tantalizingly close to hers. Her stomach constricted, whether from desire or guilt she couldn't tell.

Will went on, "This is all my fault, Kim."

She started to argue with him and stopped before the words formed. Obviously, this entire situation was, to some extent, Will's fault – she couldn't, and wouldn't, argue with that. Nevertheless, no matter what fleeting temptation they had experienced, she didn't think it was fair for him to accept the blame for Jay's irrational jealousy.

"Will, you've never done anything to come between Jay and me," she insisted. "I'm sure it would have made life easier for you if I wasn't in the picture, but you never tried to separate us. You can't take responsibility for this."

"I don't mean that. I'm talking about last night, when you were looking after me." Will ran a hand self-consciously through his wet hair, mussing it further. Kim felt a pang of tenderness for him; he looked so impossibly boyish with his hair sticking out in all directions.

_No one would ever suspect Will of being a spy. Jay's the one who looks like a soldier – Will looks like the boy next door._

Pushing such thoughts aside, Kim protested, "Nothing happened between us last night, Will. You've got a bullet wound in your gut, for God's sake. And anyway, Jay was sitting there the entire time."

"I know, but…I lost someone, Kim. They – the people I used to work for – they took someone from me, someone…important."

Will stared down at his hands, unable for the first time in their acquaintance to meet her eyes. He spoke softly, almost as if to himself. "Pretending to be someone else is…isolating. I'm not used to being taken care of."

Will drug his gaze back up to hers. Kim could see the effort it cost him to be this open and honest, and she respected it.

"I'm sure Jay saw how I responded to your concern, how much I enjoyed it. That would probably be enough to make any guy wonder."

_Oh Will, poor Will._

Kim was struck suddenly by a long-forgotten memory from two years before: She had been standing in the kitchen of The Castle talking to Nell Graham, Tyler's now-ex-girlfriend, when Will, sweaty from a late-afternoon run with Jay, had popped in just long enough to grab a bottle of cold water before rushing upstairs to shower. "Will's kind of shy," Kim had noted to Nell, afraid the other girl – who was new to their circle at the time – would think Will's lack of conversation rude.

Nell had shaken her head, looking after him. "I don't think so. I think he's just all alone."

Now, Nell's words echoed in Kim's mind, and she understood how true they were. And to imagine, on top of that loneliness, that he had been robbed of someone he loved, someone "important"…

_He must mean this Maya that Jay told me about, this girl Freed murdered to punish Will for letting Jay and Tyler live, _Kim realized. Her heart broke for him. Whatever his deceptions, she believed that underneath it all, Will Traveler was a good man. He deserved better than the hand he had been dealt.

"Will." She picked his hand up off the bedspread and held it in both of hers. "I don't know why Jay said what he said to me, but I don't think it has anything to do with you or me. I think he's scared. I think he's angry about what's happened, and he's angry because he doesn't feel like he can protect me. You have enough to carry without carrying this, too, honey."

Charged silence fell between them. Once more, Kim was reminded forcibly of their previous encounter; she wondered, for a split-second, what Will would do if she reached for him now. Would he be the friend to Jay he had been before, or would he let grief and loneliness override loyalty?

Even as she considered swimming into Will's beautiful blue-green eyes, however, Kim knew he was not who she wanted. She loved Will. In two years, he had come to mean a great deal to her, she suspected not in the least because underneath his charming, affable exterior she had sensed the isolation and pain within him. Compassion was in Kim's nature; she was naturally drawn to those who needed love and support, and Will certainly qualified. But the love she felt for Will was not so different from the love she felt for Tyler. The love of friends.

_No, it's not Will I want. I want Jay. I love Jay._

The surety of the revelation shored up Kim's courage, restoring to her roller-coaster emotions the balance she had been missing since Chambers took her into custody. Sitting there with her life and the lives of those she loved lying in shattered ruins around her, fully accepting of the fact that the future she had so carefully carved out for herself was no longer so much as a remote possibility, Kim discovered that she was and always had been madly, unshakably, happily in love with Jay Burchell.

Will must have read those thoughts in her eyes, because he smiled knowingly and smoothed her hair into place. "You should go to him," he advised. "Don't leave it like this. Trust me, you might not get another chance to make things right."

"Thank you, Will." Kim impulsively leaned forward and kissed him quickly, chastely on the jaw. In his ear, she whispered, "You're not alone anymore, you know that, right?"

Will shifted away from her, his expression unreadable, the impenetrable mask slipping back into place. "We have to leave soon. You should go to Jay."

Kim understood that closeness would not come easily to someone who had been trained in deception and betrayal. She smiled at Will to let him know she understood. Then, heart full to bursting with renewed hope, she bounded out the door and across the hall to the room she was sharing with Jay.

She found him still seated on the bed where she had left him, appearing so broken and defeated it tore at her heart. He looked up solemnly to where she stood over him.

"Are we over?"

_Oh Jay, I love you. God, I love you so much. How could we ever be over?_

Jay's voice was rough with emotion. Kim knelt on the floor in front of him, bracing her palms on his knees. She didn't say a word: She just reached up, tangled her fingers in his soft dark curls, and pulled him down into a long, sweet kiss that said everything she needed to say.


	3. Chapter 3

**Episode Three:**

"**Friends and Enemies"**

**Part 1**

Tyler was fairly certain someone on the run for his life was not supposed to be deliriously happy. Even the impending face-to-face with Agent Marlow, whom at their last meeting had proceeded to shoot Will in the back, couldn't dampen his spirits. He only hoped his companions didn't notice; he didn't much feel like explaining why he was so happy.

_No way these guys would believe in love at first sight. Or, I guess, second sight…_

Liz. Megan Elizabeth Schultz. Tyler had suffered crushes before. He had even thought on one occasion – that occasion being Nell Graham, who until thirty-six hours ago could still make his heart do back-flips – that he was in love. Whatever he was feeling now for Liz far surpassed all of those earlier emotions, though. She was all he could think about, and just the thought of her brought a dreamy smile to his face.

They were speeding down backroads about twenty miles north of Boston, Jay behind the wheel, Will in the passenger's seat reviewing (for the hundredth time) files and web pages on Fourth Branch members he and Jay had printed out before they left the hideout. Tyler sat in the backseat staring out the window and playing over and over in his mind the sweet, passionate kiss Liz had seen him off with.

Will's voice suddenly brought Tyler out of his reverie. "Okay, we're nearly there," he announced. "When you get up here to this T-road, Jay, make a left. That'll take us out to the industrial park."

Tyler noted, as he had several times during the twelve-hour drive, how oddly polite Will and Jay were acting toward one another. Unable to contain his curiosity, he asked, "What's the matter with you two? D'you have a lover's spat?"

Jay's ears turned red. "Nothing's the matter with me," he said stiffly.

Over his shoulder, Will shot Tyler a drop-it-now look. Tyler shrugged. "Okay, whatever, don't tell me. But don't you think you ought to kiss and make up before we walk into the lion's den?"

"It's nothing, Tyler," Will tabled.

"No, he's right." Jay's knuckles were white from gripping the wheel so tightly. Tyler abruptly wished he hadn't pried; the last thing they needed was another battle to the death between Jay and Will. "I owe you an apology, Will."

Jay's pronouncement floored Tyler. "You owe _him _an apology? What the hell for?"

"For thinking he was trying to steal Kim."

It took a moment for Tyler to process that. Then he laughed, earning another death-glare from Will. "What?" Tyler challenged. "Jay, that's absurd. Kim is so utterly devoted to you, she'd probably be more likely to stab Will for getting you into this mess than to screw him."

"Thanks for always being so tactful, Tyler," Will broke in coolly. To Jay, he said firmly, "Forget about it. We're all under a lot of stress, and anyway, Tyler's right – neither of you will ever owe me an apology for anything."

A strange feeling of companionship for his two friends, including Will, spread through Tyler. He suspected it had something to do with the warm fuzzies Liz had aroused in him. Nevertheless, he was relieved that the tension in the car quickly dissipated now that Jay and Will had confronted their issue.

"So, you think this might actually work?" Jay inquired hopefully of Will.

They were now passing open stretches of land that had obviously been cleared of trees to make way for refineries and factories, most of which now stood derelict along the deserted road like badly-healed scars. Will hesitated a long moment before answering carefully, "I think it might. But remember what I said: If things go south, get yourselves out. Don't wait for me."

"Why are you always so eager to be the sacrificial lamb, man?" Tyler wondered aloud. He didn't like the idea of abandoning Will to his death just to save his own skin; it felt wrong, like betraying a brother. "Do you actually think we'd just run off and leave you to these people? God only knows what they'd do to you after the trouble you've caused them."

"Yeah, well, I signed up for this. You guys didn't."

"It doesn't matter who signed up for what, Will. We're all in this together now." Jay's eyes met Tyler's in the rearview mirror, and Tyler nodded his agreement. "So stop telling us to look out for ourselves. We need to all look out for one another."

Will sighed. "You know, before you guys go taking any bullets for me, you should understand that I'm actually not a very good person."

Tyler couldn't help but laugh. "We know what a piece of shit you are, Will, and we love you anyway."

A split-second of awkward silence followed Tyler's words. _Whatever the response, _he decided, staring at his feet, _I'm not sorry I said it. I do love Jay and Will._

"Do we have to hug or anything?"

Will's light-hearted sarcasm restored normalcy to their all-guy, testosterone-laden camaraderie. "I think we scan skip that part," Jay laughed. "But seriously, Will, we're not leaving you behind. We have to watch each other's backs if we're going to get through this."

Tyler noted that Will looked decidedly uncomfortable. He couldn't blame him; he was sure Will still had a laundry list of dark secrets he would, at some point, have to share with his friends if he wanted to survive. Telling himself that he would do his best to forgive whatever Will had done, Tyler suggested, "If there's something we need to know before we hear it from Marlow, Will, now would be a good time to tell us."

"Tyler, I'm sure Will has told us everything." Jay glanced sideways at their friend, adding, "Right?"

"Actually," Will nervously licked his lips, "there is something I've been meaning to tell Tyler."

Fear coiled in a tight knot beneath Tyler's heart. _If it's something about Liz, if she's in some kind of danger, I'll knock them both out if I have to but I'm taking this car and going back for her…_

"What is it?" he heard himself ask, his voice sounding deadened by fear.

Will twisted around and looked at him with such sympathy Tyler knew the worst was coming. Still, he wasn't prepared for it.

"It's your father, Tyler. Freed tried to have him killed. He's alive, but he's hurt badly."

Jay whistled under his breath. "Goddamn it, these people are brutal." Over his shoulder, he asked, "Tyler, you okay?"

_Okay? My father…My father who was willing to sell me out for his beliefs…_

"How?" Tyler found that focusing on the details kept his mind functioning and his heart from hammering. "How did he get hurt?"

"My source didn't know much," Will admitted apologetically. "He said the FBI was taking your father into custody when he was shot by an unknown gunman. The shooter escaped, of course – he killed an FBI agent in the process, from what I found out on my own."

"And where is he now? My father, I mean."

"He was taken by helicopter to John Hopkins University Medical Center in Baltimore," Will replied. "He's stable, but critical."

_Stable but critical. The old bastard is tough…_

Tyler didn't know how to feel about Will's announcement. On the one hand, he couldn't deny that the thought of losing his father was as terrifying now as it would have been when he was a small child; whatever Carlton Fog had or had not done, Tyler loved his father, he could admit that to himself without shame or remorse. Yet on the other hand, given the evils he now knew his father had helped perpetrate, Tyler had to be just as honest with himself that he wasn't convinced his father's death would be a great loss to anyone in the world, including his eldest son.

"Tyler, when this is all over, I hope you and your father get a chance to talk," Will was saying. He looked uncertain as how best to continue and paused a little between words as he went on, "I've known your father for a little while. Not real well, but well enough, I guess you'd say. I think there's a lot of things he could explain to you that you need to hear.

"But right now," Will said, with the air of coming to his point, "you have to focus on surviving. Freed's people will probably expect you to try to make contact with your father once you know he's hurt. They'll be watching him very, very closely."

Feeling rather miffed, Tyler snapped, "I'm not an idiot, Will. I'm not going to go marching off to Baltimore to my father's sickbed with the FBI and the NSA and every other law enforcement agency in the country looking for me."

Will hurried to say, "I know that. It's just…Well, you have to realize that they don't mean to let your father live, Tyler. Just because they didn't kill him on their first try doesn't mean they won't try again."

Tyler's blood ran cold. He suspected he knew why his father had been targeted: Because Carlton had not turned his son in after Tyler came to see him following the disastrous John Ellington debacle.

_They're going to kill him because of me. Can I live with that?_

As Will instructed Jay to turn the car down a wooded lane, Tyler realized that he didn't have much choice in the matter. If he went to his father, he would either be killed or captured, and neither of those things would protect Carlton. If he didn't go, Carlton might die, yet the truth of the matter was, Carlton had chosen this path. He had known the dangers going in. Tyler didn't want his father to be murdered, but he also knew it would not really be his fault if that was Carlton's fate – Tyler had never asked his father to involve him in this crazy, brutal world.

"We good?" Will turned in the seat to ask Tyler.

"Yeah." Tyler nodded, looking Will directly in the eyes. "I understand what could happen, and I know I can't do anything to stop it, so…"

Jay had parked the car in a gravel lot surrounded by dense trees. Through the grove to their right, Tyler could just make out the roof of a large warehouse nestled at the bottom of a hill. He supposed this was the abandoned factory where Will had arranged the meet with Marlow.

_If only I could turn the clock back twenty minutes and be so stupidly happy over Liz again, it might make this all easier…_

Thinking of Liz did shore up Tyler's courage, he was pleased to find. He felt hardly more than trepidation as Will declared, "All right, this is it – moment of truth. Anybody wanna back out, now's the time to say."

"I'm in." Jay killed the engine and pocketed the keys. "Let's get this done."

Jay stepped out of the car. Will glanced back at Tyler. "You coming?"

"Absolutely. Uh, hey, Will?" Tyler stopped his friend before he could climb out of the car. "Thank you. For telling me."

Hand on the door handle, Will shrugged. "I owe you the truth, Tyler. That's the least I can give you."

**Part 2**

The location Will had chosen for their meeting with Marlow was the safest he could come up with – mainly because he had the advantage of knowing far more about it than the Fourth Branch in all likelihood ever would.

Growing up, Will had known a crazy old hermit known simply as McCullough. People said McCullough "had a bad war," referring to the time he spent in the trenches knifing Germans during World War I. McCullough also had no family, no friends, and no money, which Will supposed would also make for a pretty bad peacetime, but as a child he had only thought of McCullough as the bushy-haired, tobacco-chewing, foul-smelling lunatic who wandered out of the woods from time to time to buy things like cigarettes and whiskey.

It was on one of those occasional trips to town that McCullough had carried Will three miles to the nearest hospital after Will wrecked his bike trying to careen down Governor's Hill – a two-mile death trap of trees and brambles attempted at least once by ever daring boy in his hometown – and snapped his right leg just below the knee. McCullough had seemed impressed by Will's refusal to shed any tears despite the bone poking through his skin. After that encounter, the two had formed an odd sort of friendship in which McCullough sought Will out whenever he came to town and Will hung out at McCullough's hovel whenever he could slip off unnoticed into the woods. Which, given Will's childhood, had been fairly often.

McCullough had made a living out of tramping through places the world had forgotten. Many of the stories he told Will over Jim Bean and Marlboros turned out to be nothing more than the imaginings of a lonely, disturbed old man, yet every now and then, some natural wonder McCullough had described would turn out to actually exist. Will knew because since he was sixteen he had made it a point to seek out those places for himself, a hobby he had never mentioned to anyone, including Maya.

One such excursion had brought Will, now almost eight years ago, to the wooded areas surrounding Boston. McCullough had claimed to have found and explored a series of tunnels in those woods that, he believed, had been used to smuggle pirated goods from the city's port into the colonies under the noses of the port authorities. Will didn't know if that was true – too many of the tunnels had caved in for him to determine if the vast network had at one time led all the way to the port – but he did know that the tunnels existed, for he had spent the better part of two weeks underground mapping them.

So far as Will knew, McCullough was probably one of the only people in over a hundred years to make use of the tunnels, and probably less than a dozen living who even knew of their existence: No museum or historical society or geological survey he could find had listed any part of them. At the time, mapping the tunnels and discovering how they opened sometimes within yards of modern structures like homes and factories had been a lark for Will. Now, he planned to use McCullough's tunnels to sneak up on Marlow, to ensure that he and his friends were not walking into a trap and that they had an escape route if a trap ended up being sprung.

Tyler and Jay were, Will knew, putting a tremendous amount of faith in him by agreeing to traverse two miles of centuries' old tunnels with nothing more than his promise to go on that one opened just behind the warehouse where they were meeting Marlow. He was rather unreasonably pleased by the trust he had managed to regain in less than four days. They were acting like friends again – no, like brothers – and for once, Will wasn't pretending to be anybody but himself with them.

_Okay, so, I'm not showing the whole me, but it's an improvement over what we had before – at least I don't have to fake an interest in chemistry…_

They each carried a backpack: Will's contained weapons (three loaded handguns, ammunition and a wickedly-sharp hunting knife), Jay's contained a long-range telephoto lens and night-vision goggles, and Tyler's contained audio recording equipment. Will's plan, which he explained to them again as they crawled belly-first into the tunnel down a dirt chute neatly hidden in the side of a hill, was to secretly emerge behind the warehouse, check out the scene with the telephoto lens, set up the recording equipment in the tunnels, wire themselves with hidden microphones and arm themselves with the handguns. Will wanted a record of whatever Marlow had to say, in case it could later help prove his friends' innocence or incriminate members of the Fourth Branch, but first and foremost he wanted to take every precaution possible against walking blindly into the FBI's hands.

He still could not think of who this supposed CIA operative could be. Joseph Campbell was dead; Will's sources had confirmed that before they left the hideout. He had a fleeting hope that maybe Marlow was referring to Maya, that maybe she had only pretended to be dead, yet deep down, he knew that didn't track: He had known Maya better than anyone else in his life, and he knew she was not an agent of any kind. The handful of Freed's close associates left after ruling out people like Alex and Kate whom Will had already disposed of did not readily present any possibilities for moles.

_Which leaves open the very real possibility that if Agent Marlow isn't playing us herself, she is being played, and this is probably going to be one hell of a disastrous meeting…_

"God, this is the scariest thing we've done," Tyler whispered through the dark. They were hurrying along the tunnel with Will in the lead and Jay bringing up the rear. Their flashlights barely penetrated the subterranean blackness; the earth walls pressed in close around them, giving off the cloying organic smell of rotting leaves and moldy roots. "You guys ever see that movie _The Descent_?"

Vaguely, Will recalled something about a group of women spelunkers exploring an ancient cave system when they encountered a race of cannibals. "Sort of," he called back. "Why?"

"Well," Tyler said, panting a little as he tried to keep pace with Will, who was half-jogging,"maybe we should've gotten out the guns before coming down here. You know, just in case we encounter some kind of albino bat-people who want to make dinner out of us."

Will shook his head, laughing under his breath. Behind him, he could hear Jay and Tyler chuckling.

_It's good to be friends again._

_Now – whichever gods are listening – please just help me keep them alive, because there really may be a monster at the end of this tunnel…_

The long trek gave Will time to think – too much time, in his opinion. He kept returning to his decision not to abandon Jay and Tyler to their fate. When he had signed on for Hometown, he had never anticipated being asked to kill civilians, yet Will admitted to himself that, at that point in his life, he probably would have joined up anyway. He had suspected, when given the mission to cultivate a relationship with Burchell and Fog, that he might be asked to kill them someday; he had told himself it didn't matter, that he could do the job and complete the mission, all for the good of the country.

Then he had come to know them. Will had led a lonely life; he wasn't one to wallow in self-pity, but he was self-aware enough to acknowledge, as he had to Kim almost twenty-four hours ago, that he was unaccustomed to being cared for. Tyler and Jay were easy to like, easy to love even, and they had treated him like a brother from moment one. He had liked who he was when he was around them: Will Traveler's life was a pleasant fiction, one the man portraying him had become so attached to that even now he asked to be called "Will."

_But I would have completed the mission if it weren't for Maya…_

Loving Maya had changed him, Will also readily admitted that. Her goodness, her sweetness, her determination to see the goodness and the sweetness in him although – unlike Jay or Tyler or Kim – she knew what he really was, had stolen his heart away. He had been helpless in the face of that love. In spite of all the danger, in spite of his own patriotic misgivings, he had chosen to betray Hometown, to let Jay and Tyler live. He hadn't done it only so he could escape with a semi-clear conscious; he had done it so he could be worthy of the love Maya so generously offered him.

By the time Will had received his final directive – blow up the Drexler, destroy President Shears' collection, frame Burchell and Fog and make sure they died – two weeks before the bombing, he had known he couldn't kill his best friends. But he couldn't get them out, either; he would have risked Maya's life trying to warn Jay and Tyler of what was coming. He had hoped, instead, to leave them alive, get Maya to safety, and return for them, to help them prove their innocence. That was why he had amassed so much information in places like Boston Hall, why he had kept so much evidence that could incriminate people like Freed.

His escape plan would have worked out if that second man hadn't been at the museum, Will was sure of it. The moment he saw someone else kneeling over an already-armed bomb, Will knew he was no longer trusted by his employers. The only way to ensure survival – his and everyone else's he cared about – was to get leverage over the people who apparently never intended for him to leave the Drexler alive, either.

He had stolen the painting because it gave him a bargaining chip, a way to get Maya out. She had been his first concern; he had put her life before his and before the lives of his friends.

_And they killed her. They put a gun to her lovely forehead and blew her brains out into her silky, sweet-smelling hair…_

Will would be damned if he allowed her sacrifice to be in vain: He was more determined than ever to clear Jay and Tyler's names, to win them their lives back.

And then, he would do the right thing – the noble thing – the smart thing. He would walk out of their lives forever.

"We're here," Will announced, more to himself than his friends, as his tennis shoes bumped against an upward slope. Tyler and Jay hurried up to him. Will noted that they were sweating despite the clammy coolness of the tunnel and knew that they were frightened. He tried to reassure them by staying perfectly calm.

"We've got, uh," Will glanced at his watch, straining to see the digital numbers by flashlight beam, "thirty minutes before Marlow's set to arrive. We'll assume she's the kind of person who arrives early and give ourselves fifteen minutes to scope it out. I'll go up first – Jay, I need the lens, please."

Jay hastily unpacked the telephoto lens. Meanwhile, Will slipped the hunting knife into a holster at his ankle and one of the handguns into a holster on his hip. He didn't bother to hide the gun; Marlow would expect him to be packing, he was certain. To Jay and Tyler, however, he ordered while handing over the loaded weapons, "Stow these somewhere Marlow won't see them, but someplace you can get to them quick. Like your waistband."

"I'll probably blow my butt off," Tyler muttered, taking the gun warily. Jay and Will snorted with laughter.

Will clambered up the steep ascending slope toward a beam of warm late-June sunshine. He poked his head out of the mostly-concealed opening cautiously, eyes scanning the perimeter for the tell-tale glint of sunlight on the barrel of a sniper-rifle.

Nothing.

No activity, anywhere, aside from a couple of stray dogs drinking out of a puddle near the partially-demolished front gate. Will placed the long-range lens to his eye and aimed it all around the warehouse grounds.

Nothing.  
So far as he could tell, they were completely alone.

Climbing back down to his friends, Will reported the good news. He was pleased to find that Tyler already had Jay's mic on and that Jay was working on Tyler's; the recording equipment was ready to be set up. Will quickly clipped his own mini-microphone to the inside of his tee-shirt collar and climbed out into the sunshine, giving one last swift look around, to set up the recording equipment in the shelter of an overgrown shrub where it would not be easily spotted.

Within minutes, the three friends had crept from the tunnel's entrance to the back door of the warehouse. Will used a rock to break the door handle, and they entered the eerily silent building through what appeared to have once been a manager's office, judging from the empty filing cabinets and metal desk.

They carefully made their way through an outer reception area to the cavernous interior of the warehouse. The building was empty now except for a few rusting pieces of machinery that looked as if they had once been used to relay boxes on an assembly line to the huge front doors, where Will supposed the goods could have easily been loaded into waiting semis. Gun in hand, he scanned the large, echoing chamber before leading his friends across to the far corner, from where they could see all exits and entrances.

Will was half-expecting to hear SUVs roaring up the gravel drive. He wouldn't put it past Marlow, or any FBI agent for that matter, to call in the cavalry once a suspect was on the hook. He had left them a clear path out the warehouse's side door back to the tunnel; he only hoped the three of them could slip back down it unnoticed and be halfway back to their hideout before the FBI discovered the tunnel's existence.

But at half-past four, right on schedule, a single, solitary black sedan crunched over the gravel drive separating the warehouse from the road. Through dust-coated windows, Will watched the vehicle slowly approach. The windows were tinted so he could not see in clearly, although in the evening sunlight he was able to discern that – unless someone was lying down across the backseat or hidden in the trunk – only two people were in the car.

"Here goes nothing," Jay muttered, fidgeting a bit from nervous excitement as Marlow's car pulled up to the large front doors and stopped.

Tyler swallowed audibly. "Are we sure this is a good idea? What if the rest of the New York field office is right behind her?"

"Relax," Will intoned, placing a comforting hand on Tyler's shoulder. "We have an escape route."

"Yeah, about that – I don't think I could find that tunnel entrance again if the entire state of Massachusetts was coming down on me," admitted Tyler sheepishly.

Will grinned at him. "Then you'd better stick close to me or Jay. Now, focus – here they come."

The front doors to the warehouse slowly pulled open, just far enough to admit two slender female figures. With the sun dazzling him, Will couldn't make out who was falling into step beside Marlow for a full half-minute, until the pair walked fully into the dimness.

One moment, Will's heart slowed to a painful, throbbing crawl.

_It can't be._

The next, his heart speeded up to a wild, pounding gallop.

_I killed her._

Well, if once wasn't enough, he decided, swinging his gun up to take aim at the woman's head, he would try again.

Marlow saw his movement and froze, holding out a restraining hand to her companion. "Traveler, wait!" she shouted across the thirty feet that still separated them. "Wait until you hear what I have to say!"

Jay and Tyler were looking uncertainly from Will to Marlow. "Will?" Jay whispered, sounding near panic. "Will, what's going on?"

Will ignored him. "Get on the ground, now," he ordered Marlow. He stepped forward as she complied, sinking to her knees on the concrete floor. "Put your hands on top of your head and lace your fingers together. Don't do anything stupid and you might live through this."

Behind him, Tyler called, "Will, what the fuck? Are we outta here or what?"

"Stay there," Will answered, his tone brooking no arguments. He advanced on the woman who was still standing, either supremely calm or totally frozen, beside Marlow.

When he was close enough to see her features clearly, Will leveled the gun at the woman's forehead. "You bitch," he spat.

"Hello, Will," the woman he knew as Kate rejoined smoothly, apparently undaunted by having a pistol aimed between her eyes. "I'm glad you're all right."

Fury surged inside Will, blotting out everything else. "I don't know what you thought to accomplish by coming here, but I don't give a shit if the whole goddamn Secret Service is outside right now, the only thing you're going to get from me is a bullet."

She made no attempt to run or to fight. "It's probably the only thing I deserve," she said, "but if you'll give me ten minutes, I think I can help you and your friends get out of this mess."

**Part 3**

As she climbed out of the sedan, Kaitlynn Westbrook – or Kate, as she had come to think of herself over the past ten years – reminded Marlow, "Traveler will lose it when he first sees me, but don't try to intervene. He's well-trained – he won't shoot first and ask questions later. I'll have time to talk him down."

Marlow looked terribly uneasy. "You sure you want to do this?" she asked for the tenth time since Will's message had arrived that morning. She paused, fingers resting lightly on the handle that pulled apart the wide front doors. "I can go in there myself, explain the situation, and bring him out to you."

Kate smiled, feeling suddenly sad. "Thank you, Agent Marlow, but it's better this way, I assure you," she politely declined. She studied the filth-encrusted windows for a moment before musing, "You know, Will has every right to want me dead. I could've gotten him out of this two years ago…"

It had happened mere months before Will began his mission at Yale. Kate recalled that day as clearly as if it had happened only the week before. By that time, she had been well-ensconced in Freed's organization, a high-ranking member of his private staff at the FBI's Washington, D.C. office. To everyone around her, she had seemed like a dedicated, loyal, immensely capable agent. Freed openly admired her fieldwork as well as her abilities as an analyst, interrogator and handler. It was for these reasons that she had been tapped for this assignment, to track and study the most highly-decorated and sought-after member of the top-secret program Hometown while he undertook the complicated task of framing two innocent young men for a terrible crime. A crime so highly-classified not even Kate knew what it was.

Will was not to know that Kate would be watching him. The mission was so deep-cover, so involved, that Freed wanted someone ensuring that his best operative didn't go AWOL; Kate also suspected that he wanted a back-up plan in case, once Will learned that he was supposed to be framing, not simply spying on, Burchell and Fog, he couldn't go through with it. That happened sometimes, and it never turned out well for the operative.

Kate had flown to Miami for the meeting, to the home of a woman named Vivian Buchanan, a well-to-do Fourth Branch member. Freed avoided doing Fourth Branch business in D.C. whenever possible; too many prying eyes, he always said, and he was right. Controlling information, Freed always stressed, was paramount to the protection of their work.

For instance, although she would be asked to devote the next two years of her life to studying him, all Kate knew about the agent she was going to meet was his newly-minted alias "Will Traveler," that he had recently finished an assignment in Houston (the nature of which she had not been told), and that he would be framing Burchell and Fog. One of the most frustrating parts of her undercover work was that, regardless of how often or how well she proved herself to Freed, he only disseminated information in small chunks. Everyone was on a need-to-know basis. That effectively stymied investigative work of the sort Kate was attempting to perform, since she could never conceive of the big picture.

Smart man, Freed.

Vivian Buchanan's mansion was unusually tasteful and understated for Miami, harkening back, Kate assumed, to her blue-blood Connecticut roots. The woman ushered Kate into a lavish dinner party; this was the pretense for her to meet Traveler, and she was to make their encounter seem completely casual – so casual as to be quickly forgotten by her mark. Kate could have done her job without meeting Traveler at all, of course, but Freed had suggested it might make her work easier if she could put a living body to the photos, videos and audio recordings she would be accumulating in the next two years. Never one to pass up possibly finding out more about Freed's endgame, Kate had jumped at the chance.

But her target, it seemed, was running late. Kate mingled easily with the wealthy, fashionable men and women Buchanan had invited to this little get-together; her undercover operations for the CIA and for Freed had often demanded that she fit in with the rich and famous. She even looked the part, she thought with some pride, in a pearl-grey Vera Wang sheath dress with diamonds sparkling at her ears and throat.

By the time Traveler arrived, dinner was over and guests were milling around the lawn, enjoying the sultry Miami night. It was late – nearly midnight – and Kate was on her third glass of spicy red wine. She always had difficulty pacing herself at these kinds of things, because to be honest, she was nervous trying to maintain her cover around so many Branch members. One slip-up, and she knew she would be dead before anyone from the CIA could so much as think about extracting her.

"Kate?" Buchanan suddenly appeared at her elbow. "Will just arrived. Shall I introduce you?"

"Just keep it casual," Kate warned. Buchanan nodded crisply to show that she understood. Following her into the living room, Kate was seized by a sudden impulse to smash her mostly-empty wine goblet over the other woman's head: Vivian Buchanan represented everything Kate despised about the Fourth Branch – powerful, arrogant, calculating. She restrained herself with a brief fantasy of how Buchanan would look in an orange prison jumpsuit instead of a ruby-red Versace evening gown.

Entering the half-deserted parlor, Kate spotted Traveler immediately based on the description Freed had given her: on the shorter side (five-foot-eight), sandy-colored hair, compact frame beneath black Armani. Upon seeing him, Kate's first thought – other than that he was very good-looking – was that Traveler couldn't possibly be the agent everyone said he was. He looked too clean-cut, too boy-next-door. Oh, sure, underneath the designer suit she could discern a leanly-muscled frame, and despite his nonchalance, she didn't overlook the supreme, athletic confidence with which he held himself. But he simply didn't look the part of a highly-trained spy and assassin.

Her second thought was to recognize the brilliance in that. No one would ever believe Will Traveler could have been involved in anything more sinister than perhaps planning a few harmless fraternity pranks. He would undoubtedly have earned his roommates' trust within minutes of meeting them; his handsome face practically reeked of honesty and good intentions.

"Will?" Buchanan sidled up to him, smiling sweetly. "Will, I'd like you to meet one of our friends who's visiting from D.C. Kate, this is Will Traveler, one of our best and brightest."

"Nice to meet you, Will." Kate wished she didn't feel so awfully tipsy. A blush rose to her cheeks when, instead of shaking the hand she extended, he lifted her fingers to his lips.

She loved it when guys did that.

"Hi," Will said, letting go of her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Kate, Will's obviously running terribly late," Buchanan shot Will a playful, you-naughty-boy grin that made Kate's stomach turn, "and I was hoping you might keep him company while Cook fixes him a plate? Ted and I," she said, referring to her husband, "are just going to be run off our feet seeing everyone off safely, or I'd look after him myself."

"Of course. I'd be delighted." Kate couldn't help but be impressed by Buchanan's cool deception – the woman was a born liar.

After Buchanan left them, Kate led Will into the empty dining room, where waiters in white jackets were silently clearing away the detritus of a seven-course meal. A slender black woman with salt-and-pepper hair appeared and ushered the two of them to the far end of the long mahogany table, where she placed a salad and a glass of water in front of Will.

"You know, this looks great, but is there any way I could just get a peanutbutter sandwich and some milk?" Will said to the cook.

She looked taken aback. "Peanutbutter?"

"If it's not any trouble…"

Kate was absolutely amazed by how charming Will Traveler could be. He smiled up at the woman so sweetly and innocently that within minutes she was rushing back with two peanutbutter-and-jelly sandwiches and a tall, cold glass of milk, fussing over him like he was her son instead of a complete stranger. She even seemed happy to bring Kate another glass of wine at Will's request.

Once they were alone again (except for the waiters at the far end of the room), Kate couldn't resist teasing him a bit. "PB and J, huh? Kind of clashes with the Armani."

"Yeah. I kind of clash with the Armani." Will turned his thousand-watt smile on her, and Kate felt herself melting underneath it. "But oh well, gotta play the game, right?"

She nodded. Was that ever true.

While Will ate, they sat in surprisingly companionable silence. Kate warned herself not to feel too at ease with her new charge. Privately, she didn't view the agents in Hometown as enemies of the state. They believed themselves to be working for the good of the country, after all, even if their methods were unorthodox, to say the least. Yet that didn't mean they were good, trustworthy people, either. Quite the contrary: Every Hometown agent she had been introduced to struck her as incredibly dangerous, and all boyish charm and good looks aside, Traveler was no different.

"So, how do you know Vivian?" Will asked, wiping a milk mustache off his lip with a linen napkin.

Kate was drinking her fourth glass of wine too fast. The room was practically spinning. She just felt so terribly nervous around this handsome man; all of her cool aplomb seemed to have vanished while she watched him pick the crust off a peanutbutter sandwich so he could eat the middle first. That might have been the most adorable thing she'd ever seen a grown man do – and the fact that he could do it while still looking like he could kick someone's ass made it all the more fascinating.

"I work for Freed," Kate said a little too loudly, and blushed. Not everyone at the party was Fourth Branch, of course, and she doubted Vivian Buchanan wanted people to know of her connection to Jack Freed. Lowering her voice, she went on, "I'm in town doing some work for him."

Will looked guarded. Kate knew she had to tread carefully, but she couldn't very well walk away from a prime opportunity to perhaps learn more about what Freed was really up to. So, with the wine to give her confidence, she pressed on, "I'm told you're about to begin an important new assignment. Yale, isn't it?"

He considered her for a moment. Kate held her breath: If she went too far, if she made him suspicious, it could all be over in a heartbeat…

But he seemed to decide that she was close enough to the top to be trusted. Probably her association with Buchanan and Freed went a long way there. "Yeah," he said, choosing his words carefully, she could tell. "I'll be undercover for a while, I guess. Supposedly working on my Master's in chemical engineering so I can go make a ton of money cooking up pesticides that give people cancer."

Kate smiled at his sardonic tone. "I take it chemical engineering is not a true interest of yours."

He shrugged. "English was my favorite subject. But it's difficult to access explosives materials reading Fitzgerald."

She liked his affability and wondered if it was part of the Traveler character or truly his personality, whatever his real name was. In fact, Kate found herself liking everything about Will Traveler more than she should have. In response, she ordered herself to focus on the task at hand and, by all means, not to contemplate that they were, now that the wait staff had cleared off, all alone together. The other guests seemed a million miles away.

Will, however, was looking concerned that he might have said too much. She saw a wall go up behind his pretty blue-green eyes and decided, with some disappointment, that she could rule Traveler out as a potential source of information.

"Well, I should go thank Vivian and Ted for their hospitality."

He stood up. So did Kate, but with the wine rushing to her head, she swayed a bit. Will immediately reached out and caught her by the elbows, steadying her and, in the process, drawing her slightly toward him.

He smelled wonderful, she noted, trying and failing to regain her balance. Like sweat and after-shave and leather. The faintest outline of a bruise was forming under his chin, and Kate suddenly wondered why he had been so late to the party. Could he have been "cleaning up" on another mission?

"You okay?" Will sounded concerned. "How many glasses was that for you?"

Trying to remember, Kate sheepishly admitted, "I think four." She blushed. "I don't usually drink so much…"

"Yeah, well, Vivian and Ted can drive anyone to drink."

They shared a grin. Kate liked him even better for disliking their hosts so intensely. Perhaps that and the wine together gave her the courage to place a fingertip on his jaw and ask, "Are you okay? You're bruised…"

She didn't realize how unsteady she was on her feet until her nose brushed the underside of his chin. She felt Will's breath intake a little sharply and feared her knees might actually buckle. What if he dipped his head and kissed her? What was she supposed to do? She couldn't possibly do anything besides kiss back…

"I'm okay." His voice sounded rather husky, but he was letting go of her and stepping back. Did she imagine that he did so reluctantly?

Kate forced herself not to speculate. Deep down inside where she didn't like to probe too deeply, though, she knew that whatever it was the poets wrote about when they wrote about lightning striking between two people, she had just experienced it.

Becoming infatuated with one of Freed's operative was not an option, of course. So she smoothed her dress into place and stepped back herself, saying lightly, "Sorry for being a bad drunk. It was really nice to meet you, Will – maybe we'll meet again sometime…"

Minutes after entering the warehouse, as she found herself staring down the barrel of Will's gun, Kate wondered if he had ever remembered their first meeting. He hadn't recognized her in that fake hotel room, not at first, though she thought she'd seen a flicker of recognition when she reminded him of it: _"I was tipsy, you were charming._" If he did recall that night, his feelings toward it – and her – were obviously quite different from her own, because it was with great reluctance that he eased his finger off the trigger upon hearing her offer of help.

"Talk," he commanded.

Kate glanced toward Marlow, who was staring at the floor with her eyes shut and might have been praying, then toward the two frightened young men hovering in the corner. She decided to push her luck and start off with a request: "Maybe Agent Marlow and your friends could join us. I think this will be a lot simpler if I only have to tell it once."

"Fine." Will's gun remained pointed at her head. "Jay, Tyler, get over here. Agent Marlow, nice and easy, get up and move this way."

When they were all gathered in a loose circle, Will finally lowered his gun, though he did not put it away. Kate tingled with relief; for a moment there, she knew her life had been a hair's breadth from over.

_He really loved Maya. God, I hate how badly that hurts…_

"Like Agent Marlow told you in her video message, I'm an undercover operative with the CIA. My real name is Kaitlyn Westbrook. Ten years ago, my boss, Deputy Director Andrew Kensington, assigned me to go deep-cover as part of Freed's FBI staff, to find out if he had ties to the Fourth Branch and what those were," Kate began. She filled them in on everything she had already told Marlow, providing enough detail that Will would know she was being thorough, even if she couldn't prove her honesty at the moment.

Tyler spoke up when Kate paused. "I don't get it. If you had all this evidence against Freed, why not take him down?"

"Because Freed wasn't the target," Will answered for her, his eyes on Kate's. She nodded, daring to hope that he might actually believe her. "The Fourth Branch was."

"And Freed kept me – kept everybody – at arm's length from that," Kate admitted. She made no effort to disguise the frustration in her voice. "I mean, I was assigned to watch your every move, Will, to study you so I would know if you were getting too involved in your own cover, but I didn't even know as much about your mission as you did. Freed had several people working with you so that none of us ever needed to know too much about the endgame. I didn't find out that the Drexler Museum was the target until two weeks beforehand."

Will considered her, reminding her forcibly of the first night they had met. "What did Kensington say when you told him? Just let the Drexler and a bunch of innocent people go up in flames?"

"He told me to remember the mission." Kate kept her eyes on Will's, because this was the really hard part. "That's what he had been telling me all along, when I first went to him to ask if we could bring you in."

Will blinked in surprise. "Bring me in? To the CIA?"

"In on my mission," Kate clarified. "I was under Freed's orders to report on anything you did that was out of the ordinary, Will. I couldn't hide your relationship from Maya from him, or your growing reluctance to endanger your friends, without putting my entire operation in jeopardy. But I thought, and I tried to convince Kensington of this, that if you knew Freed had gone off the reservation, that you weren't actually working for the FBI or any government agency anymore, you would help me bring them down."

"But Kensington refused."

Kate wished Will would know someday how deeply she regretted following orders, given how everything had played out. "He insisted that the agents in Hometown were so thoroughly brainwashed that they couldn't be trusted. He was certain you would turn me over to Freed." She silently pleaded with him to understand the position she had been in.

Jay cleared his throat. Everyone looked at him, causing him to blush slightly. "I was just, uh, I was just wondering, if you're here now, does that mean the CIA knows Tyler and I are innocent?"

"The CIA has known all along what Will's mission was," Kate responded. She moved quickly to squash any celebration. "But that doesn't mean much. I've come to believe that the CIA, possibly even the man who assigned me this operation, are as embroiled in the Fourth Branch as the FBI."

Will sighed. "I think you'd better back up a little and explain what happened after the Drexler bombing. Did you know Freed was sending someone else to get the job done?"

Kate was glad to have the chance to explain herself, because she had hated leaving Will with the memory of her as a monster. "After I went to Kensington with the intel that the Drexler was the target, and he ordered me to stay on the case and keep quiet, I started to become suspicious about his motives," she said. "So I did a little digging. It took time to do it quietly, which was obviously important if I wanted to stay alive, but by three days before the bombing, I was – and am – convinced that Kensington and probably many high-ranking officials at the CIA were involved in the plot.

"So I went to someone I thought I could trust, another member of Freed's inner circle who I was…close to." Kate did not want to admit, especially not to Will, that she had basically whored herself out to one of Freed's top men in order to obtain more information on the Fourth Branch. One look at Will's face told her that he read between the lines, though, so she hurried on, "His name was Paul Murden. I was…involved with him for three years. I didn't know if he could be turned, but I thought he would help me if I asked him to, so I begged him – literally begged him – to find someone to stop the Drexler operation. I told him I couldn't say why, but that if he didn't help me, I would probably end up dead."

"Pretty big chance to take," Tyler observed. He looked impressed by her chutzpah. "He could've gone straight to Freed and told him you were meddling."

"I was banking on his feelings for me, and I was at least half right." Kate turned back to Will. "Murden promised me he would help you and your friends get out of the Drexler alive, and he would get you to safety. He promised that he wouldn't let there be any civilian casualties – he said he would get everyone out before the building blew up. It wasn't a perfect plan," she acknowledged, "but it was the best I could come up with. If I'd tried to contact you at that point, Freed would have known something was up. I wasn't even sure you'd believe me if I came to you, once you had your final directive."

Marlow spoke up. "Murden was the man we found dead at the Drexler, in the wing with President Shears' collection. The ME said he was dead before the bomb went off."

"Murden wasn't there to help anybody escape," Will informed them, his voice brittle with anger. "He had the bomb set when I arrived, and he had every intention of killing me and blowing that place to hell with everyone inside of it. So I snapped his neck, pulled the fire alarm, stole the painting and tried to disarm the bomb. I should've known it would have a fail safe."

"You did everything you could," Kate insisted, her heart breaking for how much Will had suffered.

_And I could have prevented it all, if I'd just followed my gut – and my heart – and brought him in on my real mission that first night we met…_

For two years, Kate had studied Will Traveler, and every day she had fallen a bit more in love with him. She couldn't say it, she would probably never have the chance to say it, but everything she had done to stop the Drexler bombing had been done not for Jay Burchell or Tyler Fog or the innocent people who might have perished or even for the country.

She had done it to protect Will.

"So what happened next?" Tyler prompted. "What'd you do after the Drexler blew up?"

Remembering with a shudder her astonished horror when news of the bombing had broken that morning, Kate replied, "My first thought was to get out. I knew Murden must have betrayed me. But before I could do anything, Freed's whole plan got crazy."

Kate nodded at Jay and Tyler. "You two were supposed to be dead, but there you were on the news, running out of the museum minutes before it exploded. Freed called an emergency meeting. It was decided that you had to be brought in and dealt with. He told us then that you," she nodded at Will, "were dead. I had no reason not to believe him, so I started thinking about damage control for myself.

"I was at a loss for what to do next. I realized Murden couldn't have told anyone else about my request, or Freed would have had me executed then and there. I felt relatively safe for the moment, but I knew I needed to help Burchell and Fog get to safety – I just didn't know how. So I started keeping tabs on the FBI investigation. That was how I found out about Agent Marlow," Kate explained. "I could see right away that she wasn't buying the official story. I decided she might be able to help.

"Before I could bring her in, though, Freed called me and told me you were still alive." She held Will's gaze, hoping he could read the honesty there. "I was shocked – so shocked I didn't know what to do. Freed ordered me to go interrogate you. He said he needed to know what you had been planning to do, and he needed to be certain you weren't helping Burchell or Fog evade capture. He told me to get the intel and kill you."

Will's fingers flexed compulsively over the trigger. Beside her, Kate felt Marlow stiffen, and she shot her a look that said plainly, _Be calm._

"You had them kill Maya," he reminded her, his voice icy. "If you wanted to help so much, why didn't you protect her?"

This was the part Kate had been desperate to explain ever since she saw Will's eyes go irrevocably cold toward her in that fake hotel room. She could hear the despair in his voice still, the inability to comprehend his loss: _"I told you. I told you!" _he had kept repeating after that terrible, final gunshot that ended Maya's life.

"When Freed called me, he played me the same tape I played you, Will. He told me to use it to get you to talk."

She paused, waiting for her words to sink in before stressing, "Maya was dead before I ever knew she'd been captured. Up until then, I had no reason to believe she was in any danger – I thought you were dead, so any plans you two had to escape together were finished."

Kate liked to think that, had she known Maya was a target, she would have tried to rescue the girl. Deep down, however, she doubted that was true. The moment she had first seen Will press his soft lips to Maya's, Kate had hated the other woman with a passion that defied reason.

Will seemed torn as to whether or not to believe her. There was nothing for Kate to do but press on with her story, hoping for the best.

"I had to make a hard decision, and fast. You're an excellent agent, Will, and I knew once you found out about Maya's murder, you would make it your life's work to bring Freed and anyone else involved in the plot down. I needed to keep you alive and get you out of Freed's clutches, but I know how far his power reaches. I couldn't very well just spirit you away. I couldn't even tell you what I knew, because we were never alone in that room – Freed was watching us on video the entire time."

"It was him that called," Will realized. "Just before…"

"Just before I played you the tape, yes." Kate swallowed around a sudden lump in her throat. God, how she had hated doing that. It had been far worse than being forced to hit or shock Will. At least there she could pull her punches a bit.

_His face, his beautiful face when he heard that poor girl being tortured…_

Tears threatened. Kate held them off by force of will and years of training. She could not afford to break down now; she had to come to the end of her story.

"So I decided to help you escape without even you knowing what I was doing," she went on. Shadows were lengthening across the warehouse floor as the minutes ticked away toward sunset. "I wore a thin sheet of body armor, military-issue, under my shirt. I know your preference for knife-work, so I thought you would probably try to stab me, and that meant you'd go for the torso."

Tyler pulled a face. "Christ, Will, you like knife-work? And you." He looked at Kate with plain amazement, shaking his head. "You decided to wear body armor just hoping he'd 'go for the torso'? What if he'd picked up a gun and shot you in the head?"

Kate answered Tyler while looking Will straight in the eye. "Then he would still have escaped, and he still would have had a chance to stop Freed."

_Soldiers to the end._

A long silence fell. Kate knew Will, Jay and Tyler were wrestling with the question of her credibility. She allowed them to think it over, noting how the other two finally looked to Will for a decision.

"What did you do after I left?"

"Waited long enough for you to have left the building and for Freed to have shut off the video. I knew he wouldn't keep staring at my corpse for long – he'd be busy sending people after you," Kate replied. "I hoped whoever he sent to collect my body would think you'd circled back to dispose of it, maybe trying to buy yourself more time. They must have thought that or something like it, because I was able to get away, and I still had time to go back to my house for this."

She produced a disk and handed it to Will, who accepted it warily. "That's a back-up copy of everything I was able to put together on Freed and the Fourth Branch. I had to leave the original on my computer, but what you'll find on there is everything I know."

"Or disinformation," Jay observed. He was regarding her with frank skepticism. "You're making a lot of claims you can't substantiate, lady. This is our lives you're dealing with. You expect us to just believe you because you hand over some disk?"

"I never expected you to believe me," Kate said simply, her eyes still on Will's. "You swore you were going to kill me, Will. I believed you then, and I believe you now. I asked you for ten minutes. I can't offer you anything more than what is on that disk, so you don't need to believe me – you can finish me off right here and now."

Her heart was pounding. This was either sheer brilliance or a fool's gambit: Will could easily call her bluff, and she really did not want to die. Yet Kate was a good enough operative to know that most of the time facing and accepting one's worst fear was the only way to avoid it.

Will's blue-green eyes seared into Kate's clear sapphire ones. She watched him mentally replay everything she had done and said inside that hotel room; she saw him silently tallying everything she had just said with her every look, gesture, and tone. And she knew that for an observant agent like Will, that review could add up to only one conclusion: She was who she said she was.

_But that doesn't mean he won't kill me. He needs revenge for what happened to Maya._

"She's telling the truth," Will finally declared. For the first time that evening, he slipped his gun back into its holster. Marlow released a palpable sigh of relief; Kate barely managed not to react at all, although inside, she jumped for joy.

To his friends, he said, "Trust me, guys, she is who she says she is."

Tyler immediately reached out to shake Kate's hand. With a new lease on life in front of her, she couldn't help laughing as he said warmly, "Welcome to the club, Kate. We're delighted to have an honest-to-goodness CIA agent on board."

"Thanks, Tyler." She turned to Jay. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to do more for you. I hope you'll give me a chance to help you now."

He nodded rather stiffly. She could see it would take time to win him over, but at least she had the time to do so.

Will walked away a few paces and motioned for Kate to follow. Marlow began fussing over Jay and Tyler, wanting to know if they were injured, apologizing for trying to bring them in. Kate joined Will in a mostly-dark corner, telling herself not to be afraid that he was going to change his mind and kill her.

"I remember you," he announced the moment they were alone. "Vivian Buchanan's house, two years ago. That meet was a set-up, right?"

"Yes." Kate was glad it was dark so he couldn't see her blush. "I wasn't supposed to be drunk, though."

She thought she spotted the hint of a smile pulling up the corner of his mouth. But apparently he had not called her aside to reminisce. He got right down to business. "Jay and I have been doing some digging, and Vivian Buchanan's name keeps coming up. Joseph told me the Drexler was just the first step, just a part of something bigger. Is Buchanan involved?"

Kate was, as always, impressed by how effectively Will's mind worked. He was a phenomenal agent.

"Yes," she confirmed. "That's part of the reason why I knew I had to get that disk to you. Buchanan and her husband own one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the world, and as you know, their laboratory is based in Miami. What I've been able to find out – and I'll be the first to admit it's not a lot – suggests that she and Ted aren't just cooking up antibiotics in their Petri dishes."

Will's voice conveyed his trepidation. "Biological weapons."

"Bioterrorism. It's the wave of the future," Kate rejoined bitterly. She hated the Fourth Branch with every fiber of her being; only monsters could so coldly plot the deaths of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands, of American citizens. "I've been worried about that ever since the whole Bird Flu panic. I'm afraid Buchanan's company is going to make that nightmare a reality."

"We have to stop them," Will determined. "Look, I know it'd probably be easier for you to just disappear now, and I promise, I won't try to stop you if you go. But I think you can be more help to me than just the information on this disk."

_Is he asking me what I think he's asking me?_

Kate hadn't dared let herself hope that Will would want anything from her besides information. Now, she hardly believed her ears as he finished, "If you would come with us, we could really use your help." He hesitated. "I could use your help."

"Of course." She didn't hesitate at all. "There's no getting out of this for me, Will. Wherever I go, I'll be hunted, now that the Fourth Branch and the CIA have had time to figure out I'm not really dead. And I want to stop them, too. I want to make them pay for what they've done."

_To you, _she didn't add, but it hung there between them, unspoken.

"Good."

Will started to turn away. Kate couldn't resist the impulse to prolong their time alone. "Marlow thought she might have winged you a couple of days ago," she blurted out. He turned back to her. "Is it bad?"

"No, just a flesh wound, really." Will lifted his shirt enough for her to see the outline of a bandage in the half-light. "It hurt less than you pulling my hair."

"I'm so sorry." Kate reached out instinctively and brushed soft sandy locks off his forehead. "It wasn't easy for me to do that, Will, not any of it. But I didn't know any other way to keep you alive."

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry for stabbing you." Will offered her one of his trademark, heart-stopping grins. Kate experienced the delicious melting sensation that always accompanied seeing that smile, even on tape. "Guess it's a good thing we know we're on the same side, huh? Otherwise we might have ended up killing each other."

Walking back to join the others, Kate didn't tell Will that no matter what, she could never bring herself to kill him.

**Part 4**

As the stolen sedan sped off down the road with Jay behind the wheel, Kim and Liz succumbed to a fit of tears together on the porch. Kim was terribly sorry that Liz had been caught up in this mess, yet at the same time, she was relieved and thankful not to be alone in the big, empty house with nothing except her worry over Jay to keep her company.

Tears spent, the girls moved back into the house and set about following up the leads Will had left them, more for something to occupy them than anything at first. But Kim had to admit the research was fascinating – disturbing, yes, but still fascinating.

The Fourth Branch appeared to have more tentacles than a sea monster. It was like a virus, spreading far and wide throughout business, industry, law, medicine, government, media. Kim had never thought of herself as a conspiracy theorist, but after discovering how many of the country's most powerful, influential and affluent people seemed to be connected in one form or another to the Fourth Branch, she knew she would never be able to listen to a political speech with anything other than sheer skepticism ever again.

Liz apparently felt the same way. "Jesus Christ," she muttered, as the sun slipped toward the western horizon. They had been at their research all day, filling legal pad after legal pad with notes, stopping only for a quick lunch of vegetable soup. "I've got this friend, a real nut-job, who's always on about proving we never went to the moon. This shit'd make his head spin all the way around."

"It's scary, isn't it?" Kim gave voice to what she knew they were both thinking. "Being in the middle of all of this." She gestured at the legal pads full of names, places and companies that were all part of, or at least affiliated with, the shadowy organization that wanted the five of them dead.

"I certainly feel small and insignificant," Liz admitted. She glanced worriedly at the clock. "It's almost four-thirty in Boston. Do you think they've met with this Agent Marlow yet?"

"I don't know." Kim's stomach felt queasy. She supposed it was nerves, although for the last two days, she had been hit by increasing waves of nausea.

_Please don't let me get the stomach flu on top of all of this. That would be just perfect, me and my Emesis basin on the run…_

Liz reached out to grasp Kim's wrist. "Kim, are you all right? You just got really pale."

"I'm fine," Kim managed. Thinking she might make it to the bathroom in case she did throw up, she stood and started forward; she only made it three steps before dropping onto the couch, too woozy to stand.

Remembering what her phys ed teacher had taught her about fainting spells, Kim leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and dipping her head low. Gradually, the sick, dizzy feeling subsided. She could feel color returning to her cheeks.

Liz had hurried off to the kitchen and returned with a cool washcloth, with which she gently bathed Kim's clammy forehead. "You haven't slept or eaten well in a while, have you?" the younger girl asked, her brow furrowed with concern. "You have to take care of yourself, Kim. Jay would be devastated if something happened to you, I can tell."

Kim smiled. She was so glad she and Jay had made up before he left – more than made up, really. She felt like their relationship was stronger now than it had ever been.

_And all it took was him confronting his insecurities and me realizing I would not only die for him, I'd die without him._

"Thanks, Liz. I feel better now." Kim leaned back against the couch cushions. Liz tossed the damp rag onto the desk beside their notes and curled up at the opposite end of the sofa. "This is all just a lot to take in. I wish they'd call and let us know they're okay…"

"Will seems like he can take care of them. And Tyler told me Jay was in the ROTC, so he knows how to take care of himself, too," Liz consoled her. "And I trust Jay to look after Tyler."

Kim didn't miss that Liz did not say she trusted Will. Well, she supposed she couldn't blame the girl; had Kim not known Will for two years, she probably wouldn't have been so forgiving of him, either.

"Jay takes care of everyone," she remarked to Liz, glad to have a topic of conversation that didn't involve which powerful figure was plotting to take apart the Constitution. "He has this, well, I guess you'd call it a compulsion to protect everybody. Make life easier for them."

"He sounds so sweet. How did you two meet?"

Kim couldn't keep a dreamy smile off her face. She would never forget the first time she had seen Jay, sitting on the steps of Temple University's library with a Cubs cap on backwards over his dark curls and a thick, leather-bound book open on his lap. He had been so deep in thought, and so handsome in his contemplation, that Kim hadn't been able to resist taking a picture…

It had happened on a blustery November day during Kim's senior year of college at Temple. "Hey," the cute guy had protested as the shutter on her high-tech camera snapped. He held up a hand as if to ward off more photos. "Are you a reporter or something?"

"Why?" Kim shot back. "You famous or something?"

The guy laughed, looking a little embarrassed about his gruffness. "No. Sorry, you just startled me." He looked from her camera to her face. "So…are you a reporter?"

"Relax. Just a photography student. I'm working on my senior portfolio." Kim reached into her over-stuffed leather bag and produced one of the artfully-designed business cards a friend in the graphic design department had printed up for her. Across the front, it proclaimed her as a freelance photographer and provided her name, email address and cell phone number.

"Kimberly Doherty," the guy read off the front of the card. He lay the book aside and reached up to shake her hand. As he did so, the shadow from the bill of his cap shifted so she could take in the full effect of his ice-blue eyes for the first time. It gave her shivers.

"I'm Jay, Kimberly. Jay Burchell," he said.

Kim shook his hand. "It's just Kim, actually. Only my grandma calls me Kimberly."

He motioned for her to take a seat beside him. Against her better judgment – Kim was coming off of a disastrous two-year relationship and not looking to get into another so soon before graduation – she sat down.

Jay turned her card over in his hands. "Don't I have to sign some kind of release or something for you to use my picture?"

Surprised, Kim demanded, "What are you, a lawyer?"

"Pre-law student." He tapped the book beside him, which was a case book of Constitutional law. "I'm graduating this May and going on to law school."

Kim, who came from a working-class family, was duly impressed. "Looks and brains," she observed, causing him to blush, which she found irresistible. She loved guys who were confident without being cocky. "Any ideas where you're headed?"

"I'm hoping for Yale. But I've applied lots of places – John Marshall, Harvard, Washington University… Basically, if they have an accredited law school, they've received my application."

He tucked her card into his backpack. Kim wondered with a tiny skip of her heart if he was planning to use her phone number. "How about you? You said you're working on your senior portfolio?"

"Yup, I graduate in May."

"And then?"

Kim shrugged. She was rather sick of this question; her parents asked it every time they spoke, so she kept those conversations to a minimum. Lately, though, it seemed everyone from her roommates to her professors was asking the same thing: What happens after May?

"I'm thinking about New York," she admitted. She waited for this handsome, ambitious law student to tell her off for being a silly dreamer, but he looked intrigued. She went on, "I don't want to end up doing studio shots of models or family portraits at Wal-Mart. I want to be an artist, really make people think with the pictures I take. So many great photographers have come from New York. I really feel like that's the place to try making my mark."

"Wow, I completely admire that," Jay responded.

Now it was Kim's turn to blush. "Admire what?"

"Your fearlessness," he clarified. "I could never head off like that, not knowing if I'd make it or starve on the street. Not that you aren't talented," he rushed to add, perhaps seeing a glimmer of resentment in Kim's eyes. "I'm sure you are. But it takes more than talent, sometimes."

He trailed off. Kim was feeling decidedly cold toward him now; he sounded a lot like her father. She stood up, brushing dirt from the seat of her jeans.

"Well, Jay, it was nice to meet you, but I've got to get going." She dug around in her bag and produced a photo release form. "Here, would you mind signing this?"

He took the paper and hastily scrawled his signature on the bottom, then hesitated before handing it back. "So, uh, when's your exhibition?"

"Exhibition?"

"Don't all the photography students have an exhibition in the spring? Of their senior portfolio?"

Kim was surprised that a pre-law student would know anything about the goings-on at the art school. She answered, "It'll probably be in April sometime, along with everyone else's. Why?"

"Well, I'd like to come see your work." Jay stood up, hitching his backpack onto his shoulder, still holding the release form although she had held out her hand for it. "So I can say 'I knew you when.'"

Kim couldn't help laughing. Maybe he wasn't a big jerk after all. "I'm sure you'll have forgotten that I exist by April, but thanks for the encouragement. Can I have my form now?"

He reluctantly handed it over. She could tell he was working up the courage to ask her out and wondered if she should simply leave before he found the nerve –

"Maybe I could see you before April." His pretty eyes were bright with nervous excitement, and a dimple showed in his cheek as he smiled shyly. Kim's heart pitter-pattered. "You could show me your pictures and I could buy you dinner."

"That might be okay," she heard herself saying, despite the fact that she had sworn, to herself and her roommates, that she was finished with men, done with romance, for the foreseeable future. "You've got my number, I guess, on the card."

"Okay." Jay took a step back toward the library as a gust of cool wind nearly pulled the cap off his head. "I'll call you tomorrow, then, if that's okay?"

Warning herself not to ever expect that call, Kim nodded. "Okay. 'Bye…"

And that had been that. She had never expected to see him again; she had told herself that guys hit on girls all the time, and he would never really call her. But, as she now told Liz, "The very next day, right after my ten o'clock class got out, my cell phone rings, and it was him. He asked me to go to dinner that weekend. So we did, this little restaurant called The Stable, which was so nice – I don't know how he afforded it!"

Liz looked positively dreamy herself from the sweetness of it all. "And that was it, then? You guys were together?"

"Well, not exactly," Kim confessed. "I wasn't sure I wanted anything long-term, especially with both of us about to graduate and start new lives. But, yeah, I knew I really cared about him, and by the time he got his acceptance letter to Yale in March, it was pretty well decided that I would be going with him, for my MFA."

"That is so unbelievably romantic. I love that you met because you wanted to take his picture," Liz gushed. She hugged the shirt she was wearing, one of Tyler's button-downs, closer around her, looking suddenly sad. "I guess Tyler and I will have a much different story to tell our grandkids…"

Kim reached across the sofa and squeezed Liz's hand. "We're all going to be okay, Liz. I know you have your reservations about Will, and I don't blame you for that, but I trust him with my life – and with Jay and Tyler's. If he says he's going to get us out of this, he will."

Liz nodded and offered a brave smile. "Maybe we should eat something, since you were feeling weak – "

A knock at the door cut her off mid-sentence.

Kim's heart stopped for a full beat. When it jump-started again, fear coursed through her veins in an icy deluge that paralyzed her on the spot. She saw the same terror reflected in Liz's dark eyes.

_Nobody could accidentally find this place. _

"What do we do?" Liz whispered, her voice anguished.

Kim's eyes were drawn to the .9 millimeter handgun Will had laid on the desk before departing. She heard his voice in her head: _"Use it if you have to, Kim. Trust me, these people won't hesitate to shoot you if they get the chance."_

She lifted the gun, disliking the feel of it, the heaviness of it, in her hand. Liz swallowed audibly. "Oh, Kim, I don't think I could…"

"I could," Kim said, and meant it. She had never thought of herself as the sort of person who could shoot another human being, but the bandage on Liz's arm and the memory of the bullet wound in Will's gut drove home for her that these people were playing for keeps. It was kill or be killed. Besides, the last thing Kim wanted was to be used as a hostage against her boyfriend again.

"Come on." She motioned for Liz to follow her and edged toward the front door. Twilight had fallen; in the deepening shadows, Kim could just make out a slight figure standing alone on the porch.

Liz peeked out the window beside the front door and hastily stepped back. "It's a girl," she reported to Kim, sounding torn between fear and perplexity. "I don't see anybody else, or even a car."

Kim took a deep breath, checked that the safety was off the pistol, and swung open the front door. "What do you want?" she demanded.

The girl standing there fell back a half-step at the sight of the gun. Kim swiftly took in their visitor: medium height, slim build, wavy chin-length white-blond hair, angular features, frightened blue eyes. She was wearing a pair of jeans that were splattered with mud and grime, a pair of work boots that had definitely seen better days, and a Cubs tee-shirt that was spotted with what looked suspiciously like blood. A cut above her lip was swollen and bruised; it appeared fresh.

"Please," the girl said, holding her hands up to show she wasn't carrying a weapon. "Please don't shoot."

"Who are you, and what do you want?" Kim demanded again, refusing to lower the gun. Her eyes swept the yard behind the girl. As Liz had said, there was no car, and apparently no one accompanying their visitor. Kim wished she had been keeping an eye on the monitors and kicked herself for taking a trip down memory lane when she should have been watching their backs.

"Is Will here?" The girl's voice broke. Tears spilled out of her eyes. "Please, I need to see Will."

Kim did a double-take. Her instinct was to usher the girl inside and comfort her, yet the memory of the tangled web that comprised the Fourth Branch, the evidence of which was sitting ten feet behind her on legal pads, caused her to quell that magnanimous impulse.

"I asked you who you are and what you want. I'm not going to ask again," she warned, finger on the trigger.

The girl cuffed tears off her cheeks and shook her hair out of her face rather defiantly. "My name is Maya," she declared. "And I'm here to see my boyfriend, Will Traveler."


	4. Chapter 4

**Episode Four:**

"**Resurrection"**

**Part 1**

Jay did not trust the newcomer, Kaitlyn Westbrook. He found her story implausible to say the least. Not being able to verify one word of it didn't bolster his confidence, either.

"Marlow trusts her," Tyler whispered. The two of them were seated in the back of a red Ford Explorer that Kate, under an assumed name, had purchased and brought back to them at the warehouse. Meanwhile, Kate and Will were in the manager's office pouring over maps to a country estate that belonged to Vivian Buchanan, the owner and CEO of Belenus Pharmaceuticals.

After Will had announced that Kate would be joining them – without any group discussion, Jay noted sourly – Marlow had headed back to New York. She was staying at her post for the time being and couldn't risk being gone too long, since Chambers was in all likelihood having her every move tracked. Jay appreciated the chances the FBI agent was taking on their behalf and had told her so before she left.

The four fugitives had slept in sleeping bags thoughtfully provided by Agent Marlow inside the drafty, echoing warehouse. Jay had hardly slept at all. He knew Kim was probably going out of her mind with worry because they hadn't wanted to risk calling; Will and Kate were both convinced that telephone calls were the surest way to get caught. Jay planned to put his foot down this morning once they got underway, however: He was not going to keep Kim waiting days and days without any news, nor was he going to go that long without hearing for himself that she was all right.

Watching through the grime-covered window as Kate tucked her long blonde hair up under a Yankees baseball cap and leaned in close to Will, Jay was overcome once more by a strong sense of – well, resentment might have been a more accurate description than distrust, to be honest. Ever since Kate had joined their merry band of rebels, Will had been treating her like his closest confidante. And how could be so certain she was who she said she was?

"I don't like it," Jay whispered back to Tyler for the sixth time that morning. "She could be leading us straight into a trap, and look at him. He's like a puppy following her around."

"Okay, first of all, Will is not stupid. He's kept us alive and free this long, hasn't he? And furthermore, I don't think he's taking orders from her. She's a fucking CIA operative for Christ's sake, Jay, do you think he's not going to ask for her input?" Tyler scuffed his shoe along the ground, and Jay had the uncomfortable sensation that his friend knew that Jay's problem with Kate went deeper than mere distrust. "Just give him some room to work, man."

"Well," Jay huffed, as the pair under discussion started out the side door of the warehouse toward them, "regardless, I'm calling Kim the minute we get to a payphone."

Tyler perked up. "Good idea. I want to talk to Liz, too."

Jay couldn't resist ribbing his friend a little. "Moving kinda fast there, aren't you? What happened to you making out with Nell while I was burning 'evidence' in New Haven?"

"Shut-up." Tyler landed a light punch on Jay's shoulder. "Lightning struck, man, what can I say?"

"You two look chipper," Kate greeted them. Jay grudgingly admitted that she was very easy-going and likable. "I tried to convince Will to stop at a Starbucks on the way out of town, but nothing doing – he said 'maybe' to a McDonald's drive-up."

Will tossed Tyler the keys and slid into the backseat with Kate. Jay took shotgun. "So, where are we going in our sweet new ride?" Tyler inquired.

"Connecticut," Will and Kate said together.

Jay rolled his eyes. _How cute, they're reading each other's minds – or sharing a brain…_

"What's in Connecticut?" Tyler asked. "And if you say New Haven, I'm turning this car around right now. No way in hell am I going back there."

"Smart man," Kate commented. "We're heading well away from New Haven, I promise. Vivian Buchanan has a country house upstate, which should be empty this time of year, given that she always spends summers in Miami with her husband, Ted. Will's been there before, and he thinks we might be able to find out more about Buchanan's pharmaceutical company, and what they might really be working on."

Jay was rather proud of himself for having dug up so much information on Vivian Buchanan and her company, especially as he listened to Will bringing Kate up to speed on that intel from the front seat. He glanced periodically into the rearview mirror, noting with some satisfaction that Kate seemed impressed by his thoroughness as well.

As he watched, however, on more than one occasion Jay couldn't help noticing the tender way Kate gazed at Will when he wasn't looking at her.

_She's in love with him, _Jay realized, and suddenly, a lot of his discomfort made sense. Kate hadn't been totally up-front with them about her motives after all. Not that being in love with Will was a bad thing, but…

_She's got some pretty stiff competition from a dead girl, I hate to break it to her. I've never seen Will's face look like it did when he talked about Maya being murdered…_

"This is excellent work, Jay," Kate piped up from the backseat. "You interested in a job with the CIA? We've got senior analysts who couldn't have pulled this much together in twenty-four hours, even with top-level clearance."

Wondering if she was flattering him or being honest, Jay played the compliment off. "Ms. Buchanan isn't exactly a difficult woman to find out about. She's an active socialite and one of the richest, most powerful women in the country. I just knew what to look for."

"Jay's the only modest lawyer you'll ever meet," Tyler said to Kate over his shoulder. Jay knew his friend was trying to make up for his own coldness by being extra-friendly. He saw Kate smile rather half-heartedly and experienced a grim satisfaction. Maybe she wouldn't be so quick to assume she was part of the club –

"Hey, stop!" Jay shouted. Tyler slammed on the brakes. "Sorry, I didn't mean – There's a town up there, a gas station. They'll have a payphone."

"Don't do that," Tyler muttered, pressing a hand to his chest as if to still his racing heart. Pressing on the accelerator again, he looked to Will. "Is it okay?"

"What do you mean, 'is it okay'?" Jay challenged, the tightness in his voice conveying the somewhat irrational anger that had been building in him all morning. "I'm calling Kim, Tyler, so pull off."

"Look," Will began.

But Kate broke in, "Will, he has to call his girlfriend sooner or later. If they track us from here or from six hours' north, does it really matter? The poor woman is probably half-mad with worry. Let him phone."

To Jay's complete non-surprise, Will relented once Kate had put in her thoughts. "Fine. But keep it short," he cautioned.

Tyler pulled up to a mom-and-pop gas station. Kate disappeared inside in search of coffee and breakfast for them all while Tyler, Jay and Will clustered around the outdoor payphone.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Jay groused. "It's not like the FBI has tapped every payphone between New York and Canada on the off-chance that we'll use one, and you keep assuring us the hideout is off the radar."

Will sighed. He looked tired even after a full night's sleep, and Jay was unpleasantly reminded that Will was operating with a hole in his belly.

"The FBI doesn't just tap phones, Jay. They have programs set up to listen in on everyday conversations, deals with phone companies to let them broadcast programs that catch phrases like 'Drexler' and 'Burchell.' Once they pick up those phrases, they can tap into the call, even trace it. It's a mountain of data to plough through, sure, but the fact is, you never know when somebody's listening."

Tyler cast his eyes around surreptitiously, as if expecting masked men to crawl out of the roadside bushes. "Always good to have a pep talk," he mumbled.

Jay decided to take his chances that some random agent somewhere would not listen in on his conversation. Since he planned on avoiding catch-phrases like "the Drexler," it didn't seem like much of a risk, honestly. He deposited his coins and dialed the number of Will's hideout, which Will had made both he and Tyler memorize the day before.

Kim answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

Hearing her voice was such a relief Jay's knees almost buckled. He gripped the edge of the booth for support, smiling and nodding to let his friends know everything was okay. "Baby, it's me. We're fine, we just couldn't get to a phone before now. How are you?"

Kim sounded close to tears of relief herself. "God, Jay, I was imagining the worst. But listen," her voice dropped to just above a whisper, "something's…happened. Is Will there with you?"

Jay's heart rate trebled. He could tell by Kim's tone that something was wrong. "Yeah, he's here." Jay cut his eyes toward Will, who frowned, picking up on the change in Jay's demeanor. "What's up?"

"There's a girl here." Kim was still speaking very quietly, so Jay had to press the receiver tightly to his ear to hear her. "She came last night. Jay, she…she says she's Will's girlfriend, Maya."

Jay almost dropped the phone. "She says she's who?"

"What's happening?" Tyler hissed, looking scared.

Jay waved him off as Kim continued, "She says she's Maya. She says some men came to her house and nearly caught you and Tyler there with her, and then they took her hostage and forced her to make some kind of a tape in which she pretended to be tortured and shot so they could use it to get information out of Will."

Kim was speaking very quickly, and Jay tried desperately to keep it all straight so he could relay it to Will, who was watching him with growing alarm.

"She says she managed to escape the day before yesterday and hitch-hiked up here. She says Will told her about the house, so she got to the main road and then walked the rest of the way so as not to lead anybody back here."

To Kim, Jay said, "Hang on." He placed his hand over the receiver and, through lips that threatened to tremble with fear, he informed Will, "Kim says there's a girl at the hideout claiming to be Maya."

For one second, Will's mask slipped. Behind it, Jay saw the vulnerability and the desperation that had in all likelihood led whoever Will Traveler really was into this life of espionage. Perhaps for the first time, Jay thought he understood what Will had meant when he said it wouldn't "work that way" for him to simply prove his innocence and reclaim his life: Will Traveler had no life to reclaim. Maya had probably been his first and only chance at a real life.

"Go get Kate," Will ordered Tyler, who dashed toward the store without hesitation. To Jay, he said, "Ask Kim what the girl looks like."

While Kim relayed a description that, to Jay, sounded exactly like Maya, Tyler and Kate came hurrying toward them, Kate shoving bags of food and cups of coffee into Tyler's arms. Her face looked pale and set, Jay noted, as if she were about to be force-fed something awfully unpleasant.

The moment she joined them, Will demanded curtly, "How certain are you that Maya is really dead?"

Kate didn't blanch. "All but absolutely. I can take you to her body if you need to know for sure."

_Jesus Christ, like Will needs to see his dead lover's body…_

"Do it." Will turned back to Jay and held out his hand for the receiver. Jay reluctantly gave it to him, standing close enough to hear Kim's replies as Will instructed, "Kim, it's Will. Tell this girl that we're on our way back to you right now, but we can't get there until morning. Don't tell her anything about our meeting with Marlow, and try to keep her away from the computer, okay?"

"Okay," Kim said, sounding scared. Jay's every instinct told him to jump in the car and race straight back to her. "I'll try, Will."

"Good." Will handed the phone back to Jay and started for the car with Kate in tow.

Tyler stepped up beside Jay. "Tell Liz I love her," he whispered.

"Tyler says to tell Liz he loves her," Jay told Kim. "Are you going to be okay, baby?"

Kim made a valiant effort to sound calm and normal. "Fine, we'll be fine. Just… I love you, Jay. Whatever happens, I love you."

"Don't you do that," Jay commanded, fear seizing up his chest so it was difficult to breathe. "Don't say good-bye. I'll see you soon, okay? I love you."

"Okay. 'Bye."

As the line went dead, Jay fought down the urge to run after Will and pummel him. Some part of him recognized that the situation was not really Will's fault; the people who had trained him, assigned him this mission, and decided to hunt them all down were responsible. But his fear and concern for Kim made rationality difficult to come by.

Kate and Will were deep in conversation when Jay and Tyler reached the car. "We've got a decision to make," Will announced immediately.

"What decision?" Tyler shot back, sounding as frightened and upset as Jay felt. It occurred to him that maybe his friend really had fallen in love with Liz. "Kim and Liz are in trouble. We have to get back there, right now."

"And I have to know for sure whether Maya is really dead," Will retorted, his own voice reflecting fear and anger.

"You won't be able to tell if this girl is Maya when you see her? What, do you think they cloned her or something?" Tyler did not look like he intended to back down.

Will ran a hand through his hair, obviously fighting to keep his frustration in check. "Yes, Tyler, I'll know if _this _girl is Maya or not – but if she's not, then Chambers or Kensington or whoever else can keep trotting this little trick out to keep me on the hook. Don't you see?" Will's tone suddenly turned pleading, and Jay saw that it had the same effect on Tyler that it did on him: Resistance became futile. "I have to know for sure that she's gone. I have to see it for myself, or I'll always wonder. And that will make us all vulnerable."

As if seeing their defenses weakening, Kate quickly put in, "I can take Will to where Maya's body is buried. Before I left D.C., I spoke to the man who killed her, because I needed to know for sure that she was gone before I sent Will off into the unknown."

Jay respected Kate for that, he had to admit. Seeing her feelings for Will, he was rather impressed that she hadn't simply written Maya off with a song in her heart – the less competition, the better, right?

"But that's about five hours north of here," Kate went on. "So you two have a decision to make."

"Which is?" Jay prompted, looking from her to Will.

Will took over. "Which is, you can head back to the hideout and try to get Kim and Liz away safely – "

"Great, let's do that," Tyler interrupted.

"Wait," Jay ordered, placing a restraining hand on Tyler's shoulder. He searched Will's eyes for an honest answer to the question he was afraid to pose. "You didn't hesitate to go in after Kim before, Will. Why are you hesitating now?"

Meeting Jay's gaze directly, Will answered, "Because if this girl is Maya, then Kim and Liz have nothing to be afraid of. If she isn't, then chances are we're too late to do anything for them anyway – they're only being allowed the illusion of freedom to lure us back there."

Jay shuddered. In his heart, he knew Maya was dead; he didn't trust Kate, but he could tell she was being up-front about what she knew on this score, and none of it sounded promising. That meant Kim and Liz were sitting ducks. The moment Jay, Tyler or Will showed up at the hideout, the trap would be sprung, and they would all be caught in it.

"So what's our other option?" Tyler was saying. "Go with you guys and leave Kim and Liz to twist in the wind?"

"You can go to Buchanan's country estate and try to find something we can use as leverage," Will countered.

In the back of his mind, Jay heard Will say on a not-so-long-ago morning, _"One thing I know for sure: In this business, knowledge is power." _Those words had rung true for Jay then; they rung true for him now. Much as he hated to admit it, if Will was right and Kim and Liz were already as good as captured, the best way to save them was not to go rushing head-long into an ambush: It was to find a weapon with which to fight for their freedom.

"And if there's nothing there?" Jay asked of Will. "If we go to Buchanan's and we can't get in or it's a bust?"

"Then we'll find some way to get them out," Will vowed, his voice steely with determination. "I swear to you, I won't let Kim or Liz die because of me."

Tyler and Jay turned to each other. As usual, Jay saw that Tyler was prepared to leave the decision up to him; he felt the burden of responsibility descend like a lead blanket on his shoulders.

_Go to Kim or go look for answers. Either way, I'm taking a chance with her life._

But Jay had been too reasonable for too long to start being ruled by his passions now. "We'll go to Buchanan's," he decided, and Tyler nodded his agreement. "See if we can find something the Fourth Branch wants worse than our hides."

Kate handed over the car keys. "You guys take this. We'll find another ride." She pressed Jay's hand reassuringly as he took the keys, and he found himself surprisingly appreciative of the gesture.

"Take care of him," Jay said to her quietly, glancing at Will, whose face was white and jaw was set.

"I will," she promised. "You take care of yourselves. Buchanan's place may not be guarded, but that doesn't mean it won't have security – watch your backs."

**Part 2**

Will and Kate hardly spoke as she drove north through the rolling hills of Massachusetts into the wooded, remote regions of Maine surrounding Deer Harbor. He stared out the window without really seeing the passing scenery, trying to keep his mind blank – a technique he had often practiced during his training, while learning to deal with sleep deprivation, hunger, and various other kinds of physical discomfort.

_This is so much worse than pain…_

Could Maya be alive? This thought chased itself around and around Will's head. He was afraid to let himself hope. Kate seemed so certain; Will knew of no reason why she would lie to him about Maya yet be honest about everything else. Of course, she could have been deceived, but there again, Will could not see whose ends such a lie would serve when Freed didn't know of Kate's betrayal.

_Maya is dead. You heard her die._

That terrible, inescapable conclusion could not seem to snuff out the flicker of hope that had kindled in Will's heart upon hearing that a woman claiming to be Maya had appeared at the hideout. He had, as he had admitted to Kate, told Maya that he had a back-up plan in case their original scheme to escape by boat had failed; he hadn't gone into specifics with her, but Maya had become rather adept at espionage herself over the past two years, so it was entirely possible that she had taken it upon herself to follow up on his hints and had discovered the location of his hideout.

Unfortunately, if the real Maya would have been able to do that, then it was also entirely possible that someone now claiming to be her could have traced the real Maya's digital footprints to the hideout's doorstep. Nothing was ever totally secret, Will understood that much about the world of the Fourth Branch.

"Are you hungry at all?" Kate asked tentatively from the driver's seat, as they approached the exit for a small town about thirty miles northwest of Deer Harbor.

"No." Will couldn't imagine ever being hungry again, although it had been hours since he had eaten. He had even forgotten the pain and stiffness in his side, where Marlow's bullet had pierced him. His mind was totally consumed by the drive to see for himself if Maya was dead or alive.

"Will," Kate started uncertainly, slowing at the turn-off for a wildlife preserve, "you don't have to do this yourself. I know what Maya looked – I mean, looks – like. I can do this. You don't need to see – "

"I've seen dead bodies before, Kate."

"I'm aware of that, Will, but not like this. Not someone you loved."

She hesitated, as if wondering how far she should push him when his temper was obviously so raw. Will experienced a pang of regret that she would still be afraid of him, yet since he had aimed a gun at her head with every intention of pulling the trigger twenty-four hours earlier, he supposed it was to be expected.

"What?" he prompted. "What do you want to say?"

Kate gnawed on her bottom lip as the stolen car she was driving came to rest at the end of a deserted lane that looked as if it might have been used at one time, many years ago, for a ranger's access road. "It's just…Will, Maya's been dead for two weeks now, and it's not like she was embalmed or put in a vault…"

Pain – actual, physical pain brought on by grief – shot through Will with more force than Marlow's bullet. He closed his eyes. "I realize that," he managed to say through numb lips. "But I have to know. I have to see for myself."

Her sigh conveyed a world of regret and compassion. "All right. It's just down this hill."

Will took a shovel, purchased from a hardware store somewhere north of Boston, from the trunk and started down the hill with Kate following slowly at a respectful distance. He didn't need her to guide him: He could see the tell-tale signs of recently-disturbed earth near the base of a giant sycamore.

He saw again the face of the man, Martin, who had been tasked to kill Maya. _"Your girl Mary would have been proud," _Will heard the other Hometown agent say, moments before Will's bullet slammed home into his chest.

_Her name was Maya._

His hands were shaking where they gripped the shovel, but slowly, methodically, glad of something to do to distract his racing thoughts, Will began to dig. He knew how deep the grave would be – not six feet, which was a waste of time and energy for a mark, but not above three, to keep wild animals from sniffing it out and uprooting the evidence. He knew how the body would be contained – in a black plastic sack, good for keeping blood and gore from spilling out.

What he did not know was how horrible it would be to see Maya's corpse.

The sun was beginning to sink low in the sky, lighting the western horizon in a fiery blaze of oranges and reds, when Will struck something less solid than dirt or rocks. He stopped digging and placed the shovel on the ground above him; the hole he had dug was probably four feet deep around him.

From the moist earth rose the unmistakable smell of rotting flesh.

Will used his hands to clear dirt from the black plastic. The stench of decay made his gorge rise, but he refused to be sick – he would not be disgusted by Maya, not even by her dead body. He would be strong. He would be the man she had wanted him to be, the man she had made him believe he could become, if only he could escape from Freed…

It had happened fourteenth months ago, the first time that Will knew for sure he was in love with Maya. They had been more than friends for two months. He had been attracted to her from the first, to her feisty spirit coupled with understandable trepidation over the situation her drug-addict brother had landed her in by keeping his stash in her bookstore. He liked how intelligent she was, how educated, yet how down-to-earth and pragmatic.

Will hadn't kept the proper objectivity in light of that attraction. What he should have done was treat her so coldly she dreaded to see his face. If he couldn't control his own emotions, which sometimes happened to even the best agents, he should have manipulated hers so that the mission was not compromised. But Will had never been able to treat Maya coldly, not from the first moment when, upon hearing his chosen alias, her beautiful face had broken into a wide grin and she had chirped, "That's perfect! Will Traveler – like a storybook hero."

He was no one's hero, Will had wanted to tell her, though he hadn't. Their meets had always been charged with…some indescribable _something, _perhaps a romantic idea of the soldier-spy on her part and a longing for closeness, for acceptance, on his. Yet over time, as Will had out of necessity shared more and more about his mission with her, whatever blinders she wore toward him had been stripped away. Instead of loathing him, he had been astonished to find that she seemed to care for him even more.

Their first kiss had startled both of them. He had left quickly, not to return for almost three weeks – a week longer than usual. When he had come back, since staying away forever was not an option unless he wanted to report the indiscretion (which he didn't, because it would mean not seeing her again), Maya had taken him for a long walk at the marina and had told him that she cared for him, that she wanted to be more than part of his cover. Will had warned her it would be dangerous; she had said it was worth it. And so, in stolen moments here and there that had gradually become the life's blood of Will's existence, they had progressed from infatuation to what felt like real, true, sincere love.

One warm May afternoon, following one of their scheduled meets, Maya had casually suggested that they go for a picnic. Will had known her house was bugged; so had Maya. They had always been careful to be polite but businesslike during their meets because of this. Still, Will hadn't supposed at the time that his superiors would think anything of the two of them going out for dinner or taking walks or eating picnic lunches, so they had never bothered to hide the fact that they were doing these things. They simply hadn't alluded to the romantic nature of them.

They had driven Maya's pick-up out to a pretty, secluded stretch of woods she knew about. Under a brilliantly-blue spring sky, with a warm breeze wafting across their hidden valley, they had sipped dandelion wine and nibbled on Brie, sesame crackers and grapes. Wine always went straight to Maya's head; after her second glass, she was giggling uncontrollably while Will, stretched out on his back beside her on the picnic blanket, pointed out cartoon characters in the clouds.

"That one kind of looks like Scrooge McDuck," he commented, more to hear her laughter than because the puffy cloud truly resembled the character.

Maya collapsed in a fit of giggles. "Scrooge McDuck? Did you watch _Duck Tales _as a kid, Will Traveler?"

"Mine was a misspent youth," he quipped.

She rolled toward him, eyes shining with laughter. "I don't doubt that."

Her laughter slowly died away as she gazed at him, suddenly serious. "Am I ever going to know anything about you, Will? Anything about who you really are?"

Uneasiness spread through Will's gut. Until now, he had been able to pretend that they were a normal couple – only, not in normal circumstances. Her question brought home to him just how abnormal their relationship really was.

"Maybe someday," he answered carefully. He wanted to be honest, yet he didn't know if he could handle losing her because of the truth. He had come to depend on Maya more than he had realized until that moment. "It's not very safe for me to talk about with you, that's all."

"And when this mission is over? Will it be safe then?"

She was scooting closer to him on the blanket, an unmistakable look in her eyes. Will could feel his heart speeding up and his brain slowing down. This was what he had been wanting, dreaming about, longing for – but now that it was here, he was afraid, afraid of endangering her.

Falling in love wasn't against the rules – discouraged, but not forbidden. Hiding romantic rendezvous with another member of Hometown, on the other hand, was absolutely out-of-bounds. He was risking everything, possibly even his own freedom and maybe Maya's given her immunity deal with the FBI, just by being here with her. If they took the next step…

Will attempted to bring his emotions in-check. "When this mission is over," he said, with an effort to steady his rather husky voice, "I don't know what my next assignment will be. But I don't think it will mean you and I working together, so…"

"So?" Maya propped herself on an elbow and leaned in close, brushing her lips across his. Will's stomach flip-flopped. "So all those shadowy people who control our lives won't mind that I'm in love with you?"

His eyelids, which had drifted closed in dreamy anticipation of her kiss, flew open. Will found himself staring directly into Maya's cornflower-blue eyes: He read the truth of her words there.

"I love you, Will Traveler," she repeated against his mouth. Her hands slid under his shirt, across his chest, over his stomach. "And I want to be with you. Be with me, Will…"

He couldn't help himself. He had always been helpless when it came to Maya, he understood that with a sudden, shocking clarity; his love for her was like a force of nature, matched only by hers for him. Whatever happened would just have to happen, whatever consequences he would just have to face, because he could no more have turned away from her at that moment than he could have willed himself to stop breathing.

They made love as twilight fell, desperately and passionately at first, as if driving away the demons that circled them, then slowly and sweetly, enjoying the taste and feel of one another. Will had made love before, just never with someone he actually loved. He could feel that love changing him, awakening and quickening parts of his soul he had assumed were dead forever, if they had ever existed at all; in place of hollowness, he felt full to bursting with joy…

On that enchanted evening, if he could only have known where loving him would have led Maya – to this shallow grave in the middle of nowhere, to a life ended brutally and senselessly – he would have turned her away, Will knew that in his heart of hearts. He would have made himself everything she hated instead of trying desperately to be worthy of her love.

_That's why I have to leave the others as soon as possible. Caring about me is a death sentence…_

With trembling fingers, Will pulled apart the seam running lengthwise down the black plastic. The sickeningly-sweet smell of decomposition made him recoil despite his best efforts not to. Closing his eyes, he turned his face away for a moment, regaining his composure. Then he forced himself to look at what the plastic had concealed.

A hand. A small, slender hand, the fingernails still perfectly manicured to round tips, still polished the pearly-pink color she had preferred.

_Maya._

An arm, smeared with blood and purple-black with what in places were bruises and in others was decay. A shirtsleeve, one he recognized because he had seen her wear it a dozen times, had watched in fascination as she slipped it off over her head in that slow, sexy, sultry way that came so naturally to her.

_Maya._

A spray of golden hair, wavy, so she must have curled it that morning, standing in front of the mirror frowning with concentration. _"No girl wants straight hair_,_"_ she had once told him, _"unless they have natural curls."_ He had laughed. Now, that beautiful hair was wriggling with worms and matted with blood, bone chips and brain matter.

_Maya._

A cheekbone, high and delicate; an eyelid, half-open, the white still visible underneath, the pale-blue iris hidden; a forehead, a slightly up-turned nose, a graceful jaw; lips, eyelashes, teeth…

_Maya…_

A bullet hole, neat and round, just above the temple.

A scream: _"Will! He's got a gun, Will!"_

_And I didn't help her. I didn't even tell the truth when I thought it could have saved her. I never deserved her…_

"Will?"

He had lost track of how long he had been kneeling there, his nose de-sensitized to the stench of death and decay, until Kate's voice broke him out of his macabre reverie. Night had fallen; the air had turned chill, although Will's face and body were covered in a thin layer of sweat that had nothing to do with the physical exertion of digging up a grave.

"Will?" Kate's eyes were misty. "Is it…Is it her?"

"Yes." His voice sounded harsh and foreign to his own ears.

He knew they had to keep moving; people's lives depended on it. He made his good-bye quick: Laying down the shovel, Will leaned over and pressed his lips to the gruesome flesh of Maya's forehead. He heard Kate gasp but didn't care what she thought. Even in the grave, Maya was beautiful to him.

_Death has not conquered thee, _he thought, and couldn't suppress a wan smile. Maya would have appreciated Shakespeare at her gravesite, bibliophile that she was.

"What do we do now?" Kate asked, trying hard to sound normal as Will climbed out of the grave and began unceremoniously shoveling dirt back in atop his lover's body.

_I will come back for you, Maya, I promise. But not now…Now I have other people to protect, better than I did you._

"Bring me the phone," Will instructed without pausing in his work. He saw her hesitation and barked, "Now, Kate."

She dashed back to the car while he finished filling in Maya's grave. By the time she returned, he was leaning on the shovel, trying to order his thoughts so he could deal with the current crisis.

"What are you going to do?" Kate looked worried. Will could only imagine what a sight he was, covered in inch-thick dirt and hollow-eyed from grief.

"Call Kim." Will was already dialing. "They know where the hideout is, so it doesn't matter anymore if we call there. I won't talk long enough for them to trace us," he assured her.

Kim answered on the second ring, suggesting she had been waiting by the phone. "Hello? Jay?"

"It's Will."

He licked his dry lips. What he had to say to Kim would not be easy. Just as he had sold Jay and Tyler on his plan to get them to safety the day after Freed's suicidal car-bomb, he now needed to persuade Kim to do what was best for her. But he knew his plan would go against her every instinct.

_Focus. Just focus._

"Will? Is everything…okay?"

"No, it's not." Will kept his voice calm and level. "Don't react to anything I'm saying, Kim, just listen carefully. The woman who is there with you is not Maya. Maya is dead."

He heard her take in a sharp breath, yet she said nothing as he went on, "We can't get to you in time, Kim. Whoever that woman is working for, and I'm betting it's the Fourth Branch, they already know where the hideout is. We're too far away to help you.

"I want you to listen to me now, Kim. This is very important. Do you understand?"

"Yes." She sounded small and frightened and very far away.

Will took a deep, composing breath. "I want you and Liz to surrender peacefully to these people. When you hang up, I want you to tell this woman that you know Maya is dead, and you are willing to go along quietly with her wherever she wants to take the two of you."

"I can't do that, Will," Kim protested brokenly. "The last time…"

He knew she was picturing that son of a bitch burning a hole in Liz's slender arm. Imbuing his voice with strength, Will insisted, "Last time, you weren't cooperating, Kim. This time, I want you and Liz to do whatever these people say, and I want you to make it clear to them from moment one that you intend to cooperate fully. Whatever they ask you, no matter how much danger you think it might put Jay or Tyler or me in, I want you – I _need _you – to answer them honestly. Whatever they tell you to do, no matter how awful you think it is, I want you to do it."

"Will, I can't – "

"Kim, you're not in a position to resist." Will couldn't stop himself from looking over at Maya's grave. Fingers of dread crept up his spine: Soon, Kim and Liz could be dropped into the cold, unforgiving earth. "These people will hurt you. They will hurt Liz. And when they get done hurting you, they will kill you. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"If you do what they want, you have a chance of staying alive long enough for me to get you out. Do you understand that?"

Kim hesitated ever so slightly, but when she answered, Will heard the resignation in her voice and knew, with a deep sense of relief, that he had won. "Yes. I understand."

"Good." He paused, wishing he could look into Kim's eyes, picturing her as she had looked in his bedroom – so vulnerable yet so indescribably strong.

_Women are truly amazing creatures._

"A few days ago, I asked you to trust me, Kim, and you did. Do you still trust me?"

This time, there was no hesitation. "Absolutely."

"Then trust me, Kim: I will come for you. Soon."

"I believe you, Will." Kim no longer sounded frightened; she sounded determined, which was precisely what he wanted. "Tell Jay I love him. I'll love him no matter what."

Inside, he heard another voice say,_"I love you, Will Traveler."_

Will hung up the phone as his knees began to quake. Beside him, Kate reached out to steady him, but he was already sinking to the ground, overcome by a terrible, powerful wave of sickness.

_"Will! He's got a gun, Will!"_

He knew tears were streaming down his face; he could feel his shoulders shaking with sobs that wrenched painfully from his throat. For two weeks, Will had held back his grief. For two years, he had held inside an ocean of feelings for his friends and for Maya. In a sudden, uncontrollable rush, those emotions spilled over, bringing him literally to his knees in the dew-damp grass twenty yards from his beloved's grave.

"Will."

Kate was kneeling in front of him, opening her arms. He let her hold him; he rested his forehead on her shoulder and slipped his arms around her waist, clinging to her warmth, her solidness, like a lifeline in a hurricane. Her felt her own hot tears dropping into his hair where her cheek rested on top of his head. Her hands moved in rhythmic, soothing circles across his back and shoulders.

And in his mind, the echoes, swirling louder than his own sobs:_"I love you, Will Traveler…What if you don't come back…I love you, Will Traveler…Will, he's got a gun, Will…I love you…I love you…I love you…"_

After what seemed like a very, very long time, the last of Will's tears slipped from his eyes, leaving him shaky but calmer. Kate held onto him for a long while after his sobs ended, and he let her, thankful for the comfort. He couldn't even bring himself to be embarrassed about losing control like he never had before in his life, least of all in front of another person.

"I'm okay," he said at last. And he was.

Kate seemed to sense that, because she leaned back from him. With her hands resting lightly on the sides of his face, she brushed drying tears from his cheeks with her thumbs. "You did the right thing," she told him. "Telling Kim to surrender, I mean. It was the only thing you could do."

Will nodded. His insides felt squishy and wriggly. Unsteadily, he got to his feet, leaning on Kate for support; he was so weak, it was like recovering from a long fever.

Recognizing that he was in no shape to be making the important decisions that needed to be made immediately, Kate effortlessly took charge. "I'll call Marlow," she offered, leading Will back to the stolen vehicle. "If Kim and Liz are going to be interrogated, she'll be compromised, so she needs to get out of town right away."

Will slid into the passenger's seat. Kate took the wheel, fishing the cell phone out of her bag as she headed for the highway. "Where are we going?" he inquired, feeling rather childlike and helpless. Although he had to admit, it was nice not to be the one in charge for the moment.

"After I reach Marlow, I'm calling Jay and Tyler and telling them to head our way. We can meet in the middle somewhere – grab the map out of the glovebox and see if you can find a place, would you?" Kate was dialing Marlow's number. As she waited for her to answer, she added, "If they haven't found anything we can use at Buchanan's by now, they aren't going to, so we might as well meet back up and figure out our next move."

Will pulled out the map and began searching for a halfway point between Buchanan's Connecticut country estate and their location just outside of Deer Harbor while Kate warned Marlow that she was no longer safe. When she hung up, he turned to her and said simply, "Thank you, Kate."

She reached across the seat and squeezed his hand, holding onto his fingers for a long minute. "We'll get them, Will. I promise you, if it's the last thing I ever do, I'll help you get the bastards who did this."

**Part 3**

Kim hung up the phone and stood by the stairwell on trembling knees, one hand gripping the banister to keep her upright. Down the hall in the kitchen, she could hear the quiet murmur of voices: Liz and the girl who had claimed to be Maya were fixing supper, broccoli and cheese soup.

_"We can't get to you in time…"_

She had heard the despair in Will's voice, and she wondered, with a horrified shudder, how he had confirmed that Maya was dead. She wondered how the meet with Marlow had gone, who the supposed CIA operative was, if any help could come from that avenue. She hoped Jay was safe, and Tyler. She wished she had never agreed to stay behind.

Much as she would have liked to curl up on the rug and descend into a catatonic state while someone else figured out this nightmare, Kim knew she couldn't. So she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, drew on that Doherty grit her father was always bragging about, and marched down the hall to face her enemy.

Liz's face, already drawn with worry, turned bone-white from fear when Kim entered. Apparently, the truth was written all over her face. Since the imposter had her back to the doorway, Kim took advantage of the momentary eye contact with her friend to convey as best she could without words one simple message: _Follow my lead._

A spark of understanding in Liz's hazel eyes told Kim she understood.

_We really could be sisters._

"That was Will." Kim's voice brought the imposter's face around to her. She kept her tone as normal as possible.

"Is he okay?" The girl's profuse concern made Kim sick to her stomach, though she had to hand it to her – the imposter was an excellent actress. "Is he on his way back?"

"They aren't coming back here, not any of them." Kim held the imposter's gaze. "I know you aren't Maya, so why don't you drop the act and tell us what you want."

For a second, the girl seemed poised to protest. Then a sly smile stole across her features, and she shrugged. "It's a shame, really," she commented coolly. "I've heard Traveler's cute. I wouldn't have minded playing his girlfriend."

Liz walked quickly to Kim's side. "What now?" the younger woman asked, her eyes darting toward the living room, where the loaded pistol still sat on the desk.

"Now," Kim replied, her eyes still on her enemy's, "we go along quietly."

The imposter did a double-take. "Wow. I didn't expect you to sell your boyfriend out so easily, Doherty."

"I'm not selling anyone out." Kim's temper threatened to flare. Remembering her promise to Will, she continued more evenly, "Jay and Tyler and Will are not going to come back here when they know they'd be walking into a trap. And I assume you have friends close by, so even if Liz and I could take you – which we probably couldn't – we wouldn't get far. So I don't see any need in putting ourselves in danger when it won't do us any good."

The imposter nodded, looking impressed. "Sounds good to me. Let's go in the living room where it's more comfortable, and I'll make the call."

In the living room, she whipped out a cell phone and dialed while Liz and Kim settled on the couch. Liz clutched at Kim's hand. Knowing that the other girl had to be terrified of another interrogation given what she had so recently gone through, Kim slipped her arm around her new friend's shoulders and hugged her tightly.

"We'll be okay," she assured Liz, too quietly for their captor to hear. "Will said to do whatever they want and tell them anything they want to know, and they won't hurt us."

"Are they coming back for us?"

"Yes." Kim hesitated before adding, "But I'm not sure when."

Their captor was speaking into the phone, and the girls fell silent to listen. "This is Dawes. Traveler saw through the deception – he must be with Westbrook, she must have taken him to the body."

Westbrook? Kim and Liz shared a puzzled look.

The woman listened for a moment, then continued, "Doherty and Schultz say they're prepared to cooperate. I don't think Traveler will let Burchell or Fog come back here, sir. I think we should bring these two in…Right…Okay."

She snapped the cell phone shut and turned to her prisoners. "Sit tight, ladies. We're about to have company."

Minutes later, the house where Kim had felt so naively safe was filled with a dozen heavily-armed men, all wearing FBI garb. Special Agent in Charge Fred Chambers strolled into the living room and smiled indulgently at Kim, who barely resisted the urge to slap him across the face.

"Hello, Miss Doherty," he greeted her, his voice dripping with feigned kindness. "Glad to see you and Miss Schultz are safe."

"I'm sure you've been really torn up over our welfare," Kim shot back through clenched teeth. "What do you want from us?"

"I thought that would be obvious, Kimberly," Chambers rejoined. "We're going to use you and Miss Schultz to force your boyfriends and Traveler out into the open."

"Will won't bring them back here. He already said."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. But you see, Kimberly, I know a little something about your boyfriend and Mr. Fog: Traveler may be prepared to give you two up as a bad job, but there's no way they'll leave you to rot in federal prison."

The woman named Dawes spoke up, "There's a lot of research notes over by the computer, sir. I wasn't able to log onto any of Traveler's accounts, but I'm sure the hard drive will tell us a lot about what they've been up to."

Chambers considered Kim for a moment. "Dawes tells me you've agreed to cooperate. Why the change of heart?"

Kim shot a pointed glance at Liz's bandaged arm. "I'm not a hero, Agent Chambers. I'm a photographer. I don't intend to be tortured, not even for Jay."

"That's a wise decision, Kimberly. But let me make something very clear to you." His eyes and voice became suddenly cold, and a shiver of fear chased down Kim's spine. Beside her, she felt Liz stiffen with the same reaction.

"I know how smart you are, and I'm betting you think you can outsmart me. So let's make sure we understand one another: I only need one of you alive to get Burchell and Fog to surrender.

"Now," Chambers settled onto the coffee table, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked from Liz to Kim, "Miss Schultz here seems to be pretty important to Mr. Fog, but in the end, she's the weakest link. I don't think Mr. Burchell would risk his life for her. I do know Mr. Fog would risk his life for you, though, Kim, and Traveler seems fairly partial to you as well. So when we're talking about who's expendable," he smiled cruelly at Liz, "I'm afraid that would be you, Miss Schultz."

Liz had begun to shake again, the way she had in the car following her interrogation a few days earlier. Kim clasped her friend's hand tightly and tried to bore holes into Chambers' forehead with her eyes.

Apparently pleased by the effect he was having on Liz, Chambers proceeded, "Now, here's how this is going to work, Kimberly. If I get the impression that you're jerking me around, or should you attempt to escape or try to contact your boyfriend or Will Traveler without my knowledge, Miss Schultz will be the one who suffers. And when she's suffered enough, in my opinion, she'll die."

"You son of a bitch," Kim snarled, as Liz went positively weak with terror beside her. "Stop it. I told you, I'll cooperate."

Chambers ignored her. "Now, of course if Miss Schultz decides to be a hero, I won't have any choice but to kill her. How fast or slow her death is would, naturally, depend on how heroic she tried to be."

Kim's self-control was being pushed to the breaking point. Had Will known this would happen? Was that why he had extracted his promise from her based on the trust she had placed in him?

_You'd better be right about this plan, Will, because if I'm going to help this asshole for the time being, I want payback – and soon._

To calm herself, Kim pictured Jay's lovely eyes and handsome face. She recalled every feature in exquisite detail, memorizing him like she would a photograph. Her anger didn't disappear, but it did abate enough for her to address Chambers without flinging curses at him.

"Liz and I are not going to give you any trouble, Agent Chambers. We will answer your questions, and we won't try to contact Jay or Tyler or Will or anyone else without your permission."

"That's good, Kimberly. Let's keep it that way." Chambers stood and motioned to Dawes, who sauntered over and smirked down at them. Kim dearly wanted to wipe that smile off her face. "Agent Dawes here is going to ask you some questions. She has a particular interest in Will Traveler. Seems he left a friend of hers for dead several days ago."

_Great. Give us somebody who has a bone to pick with Will._

Kim knew she couldn't let her or Liz be placed in this woman's hands if she had a grudge against Will – nothing they did would be "cooperative" enough for her, Kim was certain. Thinking fast, she blurted out, "Don't you want to know where they were going when they left here, Agent Chambers?"

He pivoted slowly on the spot. "By 'they,' you mean Traveler, Burchell and Fog, I presume?"

Kim nodded. "Yes."

"And why would you be so eager to volunteer that information, Kimberly?"

_"I want you – I need you – to answer them honestly," _Will had pleaded. Kim took a deep breath and followed his advice: "I'll tell you what you want to know if you promise not to leave us with someone," she cut her eyes pointedly toward Dawes, who was waiting like a cat about to pounce on a mouse, "who has a reason to hurt us no matter what we do."

She wondered if any of the kindness Chambers had shown her at the outset of this journey was real. Deciding her only chance was to play to that side of him and hope it hadn't all been a ruse, Kim added, "You told me once that you wanted to help me, Agent Chambers. I know you disagree with a lot of the decisions I've made since then. But I think you know that everything I've done has been to protect Jay, because I love him and I know he's innocent. So please, please don't forget that Liz and I are not the bad guys here. We don't deserve to be treated like terrorists."

Chambers hesitated. Seeing that, Dawes interjected hotly, "Traveler shot another agent in the chest, twice, and then tortured her and left her for dead, Chambers. I agreed to this op because I was promised revenge – "

"On Traveler. And if we find him, you can take him apart piece by piece for all I care," Chambers cut her off, his mind obviously made up. "Miss Doherty and Miss Schultz are out-of-bounds on that score, Agent Dawes. I'm afraid you'll have to wait for your revenge."

Fuming, Dawes demanded, "So who's going to question them?"

"I'll do it myself," Chambers answered loftily, haughty that his authority was being called into question. "Show them into the kitchen. I'll be there shortly."

Now it was Kim's turn to smirk at Dawes as she helped a trembling Liz to her feet. "You may look smug now," Dawes hissed, "but wait until Traveler comes in. I'll let you watch while I cut him."

"Whatever." Kim tugged on Liz's arm, anxious to be free of the other woman's vitriole.

Liz, however, hung back. Kim was frightened for a moment that the girl had become paralyzed by fear – until she realized that Liz was staring at Dawes with frank disdain.

"You know," the younger girl said coolly, "Tyler and Jay and Will are going to come for us. And when they do, Will's going to kill you. I think I'll enjoy watching that."

Something about Liz's tone, whether it was her supreme confidence or her complete coldness, made the other woman blanch. Kim bit back a laugh; it wouldn't do to make a mortal enemy of someone like Dawes, given that Chambers wouldn't always be around to protect them. As she hastily steered Liz into the kitchen, however, Kim admitted to herself that she was quite proud of her new friend for turning out to have some grit of her own.

**Part 4**

For once, Tyler's blue-blood upbringing proved useful for something other than securing the best table at a high-class restaurant: When he and Jay arrived at Buchanan's sprawling country estate, located in a rural area of northwestern Connecticut far away from the Martha's Vineyard crowd, Jay was convinced the house would be secured to the hilt. Tyler, however, knew how wealthy people – even wealthy people like his father, who had plenty of secrets to protect – treated these not-for-show, out-of-the-way retreats: as disposable objects.

"They'll have a basic alarm system," Tyler insisted, driving the Explorer Kate had given them right up to the back door. Jay kept looking around for armed guards, twisting his neck this way and that until he looked like he had a tic. "And Will showed us how to disarm one of those, remember?"

"He popped open the box and yanked out some wires," Jay retorted.

"Yeah, but he said to see if there were phone lines, because if not the alarm can't call out," Tyler recalled. For some reason, seeing Will breaking and entering had made an indelible impact on him – even more so than seeing him threatening an FBI agent with a gun. "So we'll bust open the back door, disable the alarm, and if it's connected to a phone line, we'll get the hell out of here."

Jay sighed. "And what if it's connected to guys with guns, Tyler? What then?"

"Look at this place, Jay. It's completely deserted. God knows when Vivian Buchanan or her husband were last here." Tyler stepped out of the car. When Jay hesitated, he leaned back in and declared, "I'm going in. You can stay here or come with."

_I get so tired of being treated like an imbecile. I went to Yale, too…_

Tyler knew his short temper was directly related to the mind-numbing fear about Liz's safety that had gnawed at his gut all day. He and Jay had agreed shortly into the drive that Will's plan was the best for all involved; they had also agreed, though, that leaving their girlfriends to the mercy of people who were likely to show none was probably the most difficult thing they had been forced to do since the Drexler went up in flames.

All they could do was hope that Vivian Buchanan's country estate held some answers, Tyler reminded himself, smiling a little as he heard Jay fall into step behind. If they found nothing…

Well, maybe Maya would turn out to be alive after all, and the girls wouldn't really be in any danger. And Will could stop looking like someone who had lost all hope.

"Here goes nothing," Tyler muttered. He grabbed a rock from the landscaping alongside the three-storey colonial manor house's back porch and, before Jay could offer up more protests or Tyler could talk himself out of it, he smashed the glass panels above the door handle.

Immediately, a blaring siren shattered the afternoon silence. Even though he knew they were much too far away for any neighbors to hear the alarm and call the police, Tyler's heart was pounding as he carefully reached in through the broken glass, unlocked the door, and stepped into a large, airy kitchen.

"There," Jay, right on his heels, pointed to a box on the wall a few feet away.

They rushed over to it together. Tyler jerked the front of the metal box off and, trying to picture exactly what Will had done in that New York drugstore, grabbed a fistful of wires and yanked.

He had a split-second to wonder if he could be electrocuted before the alarm went silent. _Probably should ask those kinds of questions beforehand in the future, just in case…_

"No phone lines." Jay sagged against the wall with relief after peering around the back of the box. "I think we're safe."

"Of course we are." Tyler managed to sound as if he had never doubted his plan for a moment. "And no guys with guns, either. I told you, places like this are so unimportant to people like the Buchanans that they don't even think about anybody breaking into them."

Jay shook his head, gazing around at the perfectly-appointed kitchen. "If I had a place this nice, I'd surround it with landmines. Not to mention if I had my darkest secrets hidden away here…"

"Well, I'm sure they have a safe, and I doubt it's as easy to break into as the house," Tyler admitted. He was leading them down a bright hallway into a tastefully-decorated dining room, then through a sunny foyer and up a curved wooden staircase. "Dad always kept his office on the second floor of our country houses – let's see if all rich traitors think alike, shall we?"

Jay didn't comment on Tyler's description of his father. Tyler appreciated that, since learning of Carlton's life-threatening injury, Jay had dropped the subject of Carlton's betrayal. In fact, neither he nor Will had mentioned Carlton's name since the meeting with Marlow. Tyler found himself thinking of his father at odd moments – like the present one – with a mixture of anger and sorrow that left him as off-balance as his worry for Liz.

"Here we go," Jay announced, pulling open a door at the far end of a hardwood hallway. "Jackpot."

Vivian Buchanan's "study" contained shelves and shelves of books on topics as far-flung as modern Wicca and practical mechanics. Not unexpectedly, one floor-to-ceiling bookshelf sported an impressive collection of pharmaceutical texts. Beyond that, however, the room was sparsely decorated; search though they might, Tyler and Jay found no sign of a hidden safe, and Buchanan's filing cabinets turned out to hold nothing more than the results of drug trials and FDA approvals which looked, at least to their novice eyes, completely on the up-and-up.

Just when Tyler was starting to despair of ever finding anything useful, Jay stopped in mid-step where he had been for the past half-hour pacing back and forth, back and forth in front of the built-in, cherry-stained bookcases. Tyler glanced up from the computer, where he was trying and failing to find anything incriminating on Buchanan's hard drive (other than the fact that she downloaded a ridiculous number of recipes off iVillage for a woman with a full kitchen staff, Tyler had located nothing strange).

He asked tensely, "What is it? Did you hear something?"

_Just our luck if the Buchanans have decided to go summering this weekend…_

"This room is too small. This wall should be farther back." Jay pointed to the wall which separated the study from a guest bedroom next door. "I've been walking this and counting my steps – shut-up, I know it's OCD, I can't help it," he snapped at Tyler's arched eyebrows. "Anyway, that's not important. The point is, this room should be longer than it is by at least five feet."

Tyler's heart rate doubled. "A false wall," he realized, jumping to his feet and rushing over to the bookcase that lined the wall in question. It was the one, he noted, that held books on so many widely-ranging topics. "Jay, help me look for a knob or a button – "

"There." Jay was pointing at the very center of the shelf. Stepping back, Tyler found himself staring at an old, dog-eared copy of Benjamin Franklin's _Autobiography. _A quick perusal of the shelf showed that it was the only patriotic book in the eclectic mix.

"It can't be that simple."

Tyler was afraid to hope, yet he knew Liz's life very likely depended on them finding out more about Vivian Buchanan than her obsession with recipes. Heart in his throat, he reached up to pull the book from its slot –

Instantly, a series of soft clicks filled the room. The next moment, the bookshelf began sliding forward, cutting a tell-tale curved swath in the thin layer of dust coating the hardwood floor. Now that he looked closely, Tyler could see that same patch of wood was slightly more worn than the rest of the boards, as if it had been passed over time and time again by the hidden door.

The room within was small, no larger than a closet, but packed floor-to-ceiling with filing cabinets labeled A-Z. Tyler and Jay stared at one another in disbelief.

"Do you think it's rigged?" Jay wondered aloud, taking a tentative step forward. "Maybe there's some kind of silent alarm in here that alerts a security detail somewhere?"

"I wouldn't even know where to begin looking for something like that," Tyler confessed. Boldly, he stepped into the room and yanked open the first filing cabinet. "But I don't see how we've got much choice, Jay. We've been here two hours and haven't found a damn thing. I think we'd better start searching these files and just keep our ears open for visitors, don't you?"

Jay nodded without hesitation. Tyler knew he was thinking the same thing: If it could help protect Kim and Liz, it was well worth the risk.

Thirty minutes later, they had grabbed the most promising-looking files and spread them across the study's floor. Tyler's heart pounded as he looked over the file on the Hadley Foundation, the non-profit organization his father had helped found to offer after-school programs for at-risk inner-city youth in New York. It became clear to him after only a rough once-over that the Hadley Foundation's board was made up of some of the most powerful members of the Fourth Branch: his father, Maxwell Abrams, Jack Freed, Vivian Buchanan.

"This makes a sick kind of sense," Tyler mused aloud. Jay stopped in his reading and waited for an explanation. "The Hadley Foundation made a lot of money off its insider-trading of Holloway Insurance stock the day of the Drexler bombing, right? And according to this," he held out a copy of a bank statement for Jay to inspect, "the day after the bombing, the same amount of money the Foundation made off those shares was deposited into a research expenditure account for Belenus Pharmaceuticals."

"So Buchanan used the Drexler to bankroll more drug research?" Jay looked doubtful. "Seems like a pretty risky fundraiser."

Tyler shook his head impatiently. Why was everyone so clueless about the economy? "No, you're missing the beauty of it, Jay. Profiting from the Drexler bombing was just a side-plot to these people, but they're all so addicted to making money and scheming big deals that they couldn't resist letting the Drexler work for them. So Buchanan's company gets a cut from the bombing, not so she can go take a Caribbean vacation, but so she can fund research on whatever this bioterrorism plot is Will and Kate were talking about."

Horrified realization dawned on Jay's face. "Christ, that is so…twisted."

"I know. I bet somewhere in here we could find evidence of Derek Sellars and Three Continents Investing, too." Tyler couldn't contain his growing excitement. "I know it's not hard evidence that the Fourth Branch exists, but Jay, there could be enough here to prove that the Drexler bombing was a conspiracy, and that we were framed for it."

"You're forgetting that the people we'd have to take this information to are in on it," Jay reminded him. Tyler's hopeful bubble threatened to burst until Jay added, "But it's good stuff, Tyler. It's stuff people like Vivian Buchanan aren't going to want out in the open. It should help us keep Liz and Kim safe."

Tyler nodded, determined to focus on their immediate mission. He had difficulty doing so for a while after their exchange, however, because his mind kept circling back to Liz – her silky skin, her raven hair, her glowing eyes – and how badly he wanted to rescue her not from the imminent danger she was in but from this whole nightmare.

_We could make a life together she and I, a real life. But what kind of life will we ever have on the run?_

Abruptly, Tyler's attention was caught by a photograph that had tumbled out of one of the files Jay was lifting. "Hey, I know that guy," he cried, snatching up the black-and-white newspaper photo, which showed Vivian Buchanan in a gorgeous black cocktail dress chatting with an equally important-looking woman at a benefit for – Tyler noted the irony – the Drexler Museum. In the background, just to Buchanan's left, was a distinguished white-haired man wearing a tuxedo.

"That's Ollie Drummond," Tyler told Jay. "Oliver Drummond, actually. He used to head up my father's security detail when I was a kid. Maybe my father was at this same benefit." He looked the photo over for a date and found one on the back. "No, that doesn't make sense. Drummond didn't still work for my father when this was taken."

Jay had returned to the file folder out of which the picture had fallen. "No, he works for Buchanan." He held up an employment dossier labeled _Drummond, O. _"Looks like he started as her head of security about ten years ago. Doesn't say if he's still employed by her or not."

"That's so weird. What are the chances of the same guy heading up security for both my dad and this Buchanan woman?" The wheels in Tyler's mind were spinning, trying to make the connection. "Do you think he's Fourth Branch? He never struck me as being wealthy or powerful, just tough. He and Dad were always friendly, though."

"I don't think he's Fourth Branch the way Buchanan and your father are, but I think he's definitely involved." Jay extended another photo to Tyler, this one a candid shot of Drummond in shirt sleeves playing golf with Ted Buchanan, Vivian Buchanan's husband. "Recognize that tattoo on Drummond's right wrist?"

Squinting at the picture, Tyler tried to place where he had seen the unusual symbol before. Something to do with Daniel Taft, one of Will's aliases…

"The guy on the boat, in Deer Harbor! The guy who tried to blow us up!" Tyler cried. "You said this was some kind of military thing, right?"

"First Recon. The Marines," Jay clarified. He was smiling like the cat who had caught the canary. "My dad's old unit."

With a jolt, Tyler recalled that Freed had intimated that Jay's father was involved with the Fourth Branch. Knowing how sensitive Jay was about his father, Tyler tread carefully as he posed his next question. "You think the First Recon is part of the Fourth Branch?"

"I don't know, but too many of their members are cropping up for them not to be involved somehow." Jay took the photo of Drummond back and studied it. "These guys, First Recon, they're the best of the best – the top of the line for Special Forces. They can do just about anything: underwater assault, aerial assault, prisoner rescue, deep cover missions. You name it, they're trained to do it. And they're deadly in combat, especially hand-to-hand."

"Sounds like the people we've been dealing with," Tyler noted. "Maybe they're the muscle behind the brains, you think?"

"I have a feeling that ten years ago, Vivian Buchanan started work on her little bioterrorist research project." Jay's exceptional mind was, Tyler could see, swiftly pulling the facts scattered around them together. "And the Fourth Branch needed to be sure her research stayed safe and secret – and probably that she didn't get cold feet or grow a conscience when it came time to murder thousands of innocent Americans. So they send Drummond in to provide 'security' for her, and I'm sure he did, but I'll bet you Buchanan knows her every move is being watched."

Tyler glanced over the damning evidence littering the floor. "You think this is why she has all this stuff laying around? Her security blanket, so to speak?"

"Will was collecting evidence that he could use to 'fight back,' Maya told us that. I don't see why Buchanan wouldn't do the same thing."

In spite of himself, Tyler suddenly recalled his last meeting with his father, how Carlton had seemed more frightened than angry: _"This is the real world, Tyler. There are choices that have to be made. And some of those choices are bigger than you."_

Carlton could have kept him in that limousine and handed him over the FBI, or to the Fourth Branch directly, for that matter. He could have allowed Ellington to execute the two of them the moment they showed up at Elysium. Gradually, it began to dawn on Tyler that perhaps his father was as trapped in this mess as he was. Perhaps he had been pulled into the Fourth Branch by his father, another powerful and wealthy man; then, surrounded by people like Ollie Drummond, he might have come to understand that he could not escape with his life.

_And now, he really may not._

The words that had seared through him like hot pokers suddenly took on a new meaning when considered in this light. Carlton had said he had always known Tyler was not the one to lead the Fog family "forward"; at the time, Tyler had assumed his father meant to keep the family strong and secure. Now, he wondered if his father had meant something very different – that he had wanted a different life for Tyler than the one he himself had led, a life that did not involve brutal people like Drummond and Freed and Buchanan.

_Will said I needed to talk to my father, to let him explain. I wonder if I'll ever get the chance…I'd like to know who he really is, what his involvement really is with all of this, how he really feels about me…_

His father's fate would have to wait, however. Tyler ordered himself back into the moment, to work out the plot that was slowly coming together in his mind.

"Do you think Will is military?" he asked Jay.

"I don't know. Somehow I don't think so," Jay answered thoughtfully. "My dad, he was a real solider. I mean, it was more than the training. It was like…his whole life, his whole psyche. I think that's what drove him over the edge in the end, because he wanted so badly to be loyal to people who had betrayed him.

"Will's not like that," Jay went on, visibly shrugging off painful memories. Tyler sympathized. "He's got the training, that's for sure. But he doesn't have that persona. I think," Jay tapped the photo of Drummond, "that members of the First Recon probably helped Freed put together Hometown. They probably trained his agents with the same skills they would train a member of their own unit, but with a totally different mind-set."

"One meant for spying on Americans, not for killing enemy combatants," Tyler supplied.

Jay nodded. "Exactly."

At that moment, Tyler's cell phone rang. He seized it, heart leaping into his throat. "It's Will," he murmured, looking to Jay, whose face was also drawn with fear.

But it wasn't Will. It was Kate, and she had bad news to deliver.

Tyler and Jay listened together, both with mounting horror. They had found Maya's body; Will had told Kim to surrender and cooperate; they were heading toward Tyler and Jay now, ready to meet at a halfway point and work out a plan.

"Have you found anything?" Kate asked hopefully.

Tyler took back the phone. "Not a smoking gun," he admitted. "But we've got a lot of stuff here. We'll load up what we've got and head your way."

He hesitated. Since he had discovered the connection between Belenus Pharmaceuticals and the Hadley Foundation, an idea had been rolling around in his mind – probably a crazy one, but somehow, he felt compelled to share it with Will. Kate hesitated when he asked to speak to his friend; Tyler could imagine that, after seeing Maya's corpse, Will wasn't in the best shape. In the end, however, she handed the phone over to him.

"What is it?" Will sounded deadened.

Quickly, Tyler explained what they had found. "I think we can get some real leverage against the Fourth Branch if we can find somebody to help us put these pieces together," Tyler finished in a rush, aware of Jay's eyes on him. Outside, the sun had set, and the room was growing ever darker. "If we had all the time in the world, we could do it ourselves, but I don't want Liz or Kim with these people one second longer than they have to be."

"I'm listening, Tyler. What's your plan?"

Tyler took a deep breath and prepared for the plunge. "Somehow or other, everything we're finding connects back to my father. I'd like to go to Baltimore and find out what he knows."

Jay threw up his hands in exasperation. On the other end of the line, Will sighed, "Tyler, your father can't help us. Even if he wanted to, he's so heavily guarded right now, we'd never get to him without getting caught."

"We'd never get to him without the Fourth Branch knowing we've been there, you mean," Tyler corrected. "Between you and Kate, Will, I bet you we could get to my father. And I don't mean just to talk to him."

Tyler drew in another steadying breath, ashamed and mortified by what he was about to suggest, but knowing in his gut it was the right course of action.

"I mean to take him hostage."


	5. Chapter 5

**Episode 5:**

"**The Trade"**

**Parts 1 and 2**

_Author's Note: Because of the length of this "episode," I decided to split it into two. Parts 3 and 4 are contained in Episode 6, so think of it as an extended episode._

**Part 1**

Agent Jan Marlow was not trained in how to disappear. Following Kaitlyn Westbrook's phone call informing Marlow that her position had been compromised, she realized just how ill-equipped she was for surviving in the world of betrayal and deceit she had entered when she agreed to help Westbrook.

Or had she been pulled in long before that, maybe even from the moment the Drexler exploded?

Marlow tried to think like a fugitive. She knew she would need cash; credit cards were a death sentence. She would also need to find some way to hide or ditch her vehicle, although for the time being, her Chevrolet was her fastest means out of immediate danger, so she decided to risk driving it out of the city. After loading up the trunk with clothes and toiletries, she drove to her bank, withdrew five thousand dollars from her savings account (wincing at the dent this made in her nest-egg), and drove south.

She had a vague idea of going to Washington, D.C. On the one hand, she knew she would probably be safer making straight for the Canadian border – she might even have time to slip across before Chambers extracted the information concerning her involvement with Westbrook, Burchell, Fog and Traveler from Kim Doherty. But for some reason, she couldn't make herself go completely into hiding. She wanted answers for what was happening around her; she wanted to expose the Fourth Branch, to avenge Borjes, to secure her own freedom from this madness.

_Now I know how Burchell and Fog felt while I was chasing them down. Not too much fun to be on the wrong side of the glass…_

Buoyed by the knowledge that she had done nothing wrong, Marlow spent the drive reviewing every detail of the Drexler case. Westbrook had filled in a lot of the details about the bombing: who was behind it, why it had happened, what had gone wrong. Marlow couldn't help respecting Will Traveler, or whatever that young man's real name was, for risking everything to steal the painting he had been tasked to destroy. She admired his spirit if not his methods. And after hearing what Westbrook had to say about the training of Hometown agents – the brainwashing, the torture, the indoctrination of people who in many cases were only eighteen or nineteen years old – she also felt sorry for him.

_Nobody with anyone to care for them would have chosen the life Will Traveler chose. _

Westbrook had almost no details on Traveler's background, despite the fact that for two years she had, as she had revealed to Marlow, spent everyday watching video footage and listening to audio recordings of his goings-on. It didn't escape Marlow's keen eyes that Westbrook had feelings for Traveler. At first, she had wondered if the other woman was protecting his real identity because of those feelings. Yet the more Marlow dug into the leads on Hometown that Westbrook had left her, the more convinced she became that Freed had seen to it his own personal soldiers became ghosts the moment they joined his program.

Such reflections carried her into Maryland. Too tired to drive any longer, Marlow pulled off at a non-descript roadside motel outside of Baltimore and paid cash for a room under the name Jan Borjes. Luckily, the clerk did not ask for ID; if he had, she had planned to tell the stoner-looking teenager that her driver's license had been taken for a speeding ticket. He didn't look like he would have pushed the issue, eager as he was to return to watching MTV.

Once inside her room, the enormity of her situation hit Marlow full-force. For the moment, this tacky motel room with brown-shag carpet and peeling plaster on the ceilings was "home." How could she live like this? How could she survive? She didn't know how to make herself invisible; she didn't have safe-houses or vast networks of informants to turn to, like Westbrook and Traveler.

_Burchell and Fog didn't have those things, either, but they made it. You will, too._

Marlow realized, however, that she was going to need help, not only to stay free of Chambers but to figure out what was going on and how to fix it. She sat on the bed for a long time rolling through lists of possible saviors in her mind. She obviously couldn't go to her family: They would be top of Chambers' list to investigate once she turned up missing. Anyway, she wouldn't want to endanger them. She briefly considered Agent Watkins in Boston, the man she had met while investigating Burchell and Fog's appearance at Boston Hall. She dismissed him almost immediately, though, because for all she knew, he actually worked for Chambers and the Fourth Branch.

Because her life had revolved around the FBI for the past seventeen years, Marlow's contacts outside of that world were extremely limited. That posed quite a dilemma when she wasn't certain she could trust anyone who was affiliated with the Agency. It was only as her mind ran along this path that she hit upon one person whom she knew in her gut would not be involved with anything criminal – the person who, she realized with a jolt, she had been unconsciously heading toward ever since receiving Westbrook's warning.

Harold Stone.

She and Stone had met six years ago. Marlow had been in D.C. attending a counter-terrorism conference. Harold Stone was about her age, a handsome, black-haired, green-eyed NSA agent with a military background – Marines – and a heart-stopping smile. They had been seated at the same table; at such conferences, attempts were made to increase interagency harmony, so FBI, NSA, FEMA, and local law enforcement agents were interspersed instead of segregated at their tables. The result was usually tense silences occasionally broken by polite chit-chat, but Stone and Marlow had hit it off straight away.

At the time, Marlow was rising quickly through the ranks of the Trenton, New Jersey field office. Her major mistake – going "soft" on a suspect, as Chambers had so scathingly termed it – was still a year in the future; Guillermo Borjes was not even a blip on the radar of her life. She was thirty-three, single, and starting to wonder if the FBI was really the only partner she wanted for the rest of her life. Stone was a five-year divorcee with no kids, a budding career with the National Security Agency, and a fierce ambition and wicked sense of humor to match her own.

So when he had suggested they go for a drink following a brutally-boring day of seminars and lectures on Anthrax, nuclear bombs, and assassination attempts – all subjects that were difficult to make uninteresting, yet somehow, federal conferences always found a way to do so – Marlow had readily accepted. And when the evening had ended in her hotel room, she hadn't regretted it.

It was hard to say where the relationship might have gone if she had not nearly lost her career and her mind a year later, all because she had trusted a suspect who turned out to be totally unworthy of Marlow's efforts to protect her. By then, Marlow and Stone had been making regular trips back and forth between New Jersey and D.C.; she had known that soon he would be popping the question and one of them would have to uproot. She had been prepared to do the uprooting, since his counter-terrorism position with the NSA was essentially tied to D.C. while her rising star with the FBI would have allowed her to transfer, most likely with a promotion, to the D.C. field office with no problems.

After everything went south for Marlow's career, however, her relationship with Stone had followed. It was nothing he had done; if anything, he had been her staunchest supporter, her most steadfast advocate during the brutal investigation that followed the death of an agent on Marlow's watch at the hands of her suspect. Yet the experience of having her name, her professional reputation, and her integrity called into question and drug through the mud, despite the fact that she was ultimately officially cleared of all culpability, had hardened Marlow. The more Stone had reached out to her, the more she had shut down, until it became painfully obvious to both of them that whatever future they might have had was as lost as the spotless career Marlow had once enjoyed. When she transferred to New York less than a month after the official investigation ended, Stone had suggested they take a break.

That break had never ended.

They had remained friends, however. Or, perhaps "professional acquaintances" would have been more accurate: Whenever Marlow spoke to Stone, she couldn't seem to go beyond a forced politeness that belied how guilty she felt for treating him so poorly, no matter how often or how diligently he tried to engage her on a more personal level. Even with all of the time that had passed and all that had happened between them, though, Marlow knew she could trust Harold Stone with her life. And she was willing to bet her life that he would never, ever betray his country; he could be trusted, as sure as she herself could.

So, before she could talk herself out of it, Marlow picked up the telephone by the bed and dialed a number long-memorized.

It was after eight o'clock in the evening in D.C., yet for a moment, Marlow thought Stone might not be home – like her, he regularly put in late hours at the office. She couldn't possibly call the NSA; she was too afraid of the phones being bugged there. Just as she was about to give up and put down the receiver, however, he answered, rather breathlessly: "Hello?"

"Harold?"

"Jan?" He sounded glad to hear from her, she noted. His voice was also tinged with the sympathetic undertone she was beginning to tire of whenever anyone spoke to her since Borjes' death. "Hey, lady, good to hear your voice. How you holding up?"

"I got your flowers." In her mind's eye, Marlow pictured the beautiful arrangement of orchids that had arrived for her the day after Borjes' funeral. "Thanks."

"Least I could do. So what's up?"

_Here goes nothing._

Marlow took a deep breath and blurted out: "Harold, I'm in trouble."

A short, stunned silence followed her pronouncement. Then, "Are you okay? Where are you?"

His concern was, she could tell, genuine. Touched that he would still care so much all these years later, especially given how badly she had behaved at the end of their courtship, Marlow rushed to assure him, "I'm okay. I don't want to say much over the phone, but I need help, Harold. I'm into something…something I can't deal with on my own." She swallowed. "I need you to help me."

"Jan, I don't want you to say anything else." Stone had switched into agent-mode, she recognized by his sudden sternness. That comforted her, because he was excellent at his job. "I just want you to tell me where you are, and I'll come to you."

"I'm in a motel," she read the name off a brochure of guest services laying by the phone, "about a half-hour north of Baltimore."

"Okay. I'll be there in a couple of hours. You sit tight, don't call anyone else, and don't answer your cell phone, not even for me. In fact, just turn your cell phone off altogether. All right?"

Marlow had no words to express her thanks, so she simply agreed, "All right, Harold. I'll see you soon."

Once she hung up, Marlow realized she was literally shaking with relief. Not that she expected Stone to be able to make everything all better; her situation was too dire, too precarious, for a knight in shining armor to sweep the danger away. But Stone had connections, connections that could with any luck help them learn what they needed to know about the Fourth Branch. What was more, he knew a lot better than Marlow did how to evade detection, thanks to his training with the Marines.

Exhaustion suddenly overwhelmed Marlow, who a moment before had been wide-awake with fear. She kicked her shoes off and, careful to keep her loaded side-arm within reach, stretched out on the bed, where her swirling brain stayed busy even as her body began to drift toward sleep…

Spying on American citizens. Domestic espionage. Unlimited power. And look at the uses it had been put to – even the very agency Marlow worked for, the agency she had dedicated her entire life to, was caught up in this shadow-government madness. Fearful for her survival though she was, Marlow was also outraged by the abuses of power going on behind closed doors. She wanted the American people to know what was being done in secret, the plots that were being hatched, the atrocities that were being carried out. If someone didn't stop them, she was afraid the Fourth Branch would someday soon destroy the very freedoms people like her – people like Borjes – were sworn to protect.

Thoughts of her partner threatened to snap Marlow's carefully-cultivated self-control. Since Borjes' death, she had cried herself to sleep every night; that was the only allowance she would make for the grief that, had she let it, would have paralyzed her. How stupid, she reflected now, that it had taken Borjes dying for her to understand just how strong her feelings for him were.

_I hope Westbrook gets a chance to tell Traveler how she feels, and I hope she takes it. Regret is worse than loss…_

Now was not the time to succumb to grief, however. Marlow knew she had to hold those emotions in check. Besides, Borjes would not want her to be so sad…He would want her to be happy when she thought of him, his dark hair, his pretty eyes, his crooked smile…

Sometime later, Marlow woke with a start from tangled, troubled dreams to a knock on her motel room door. Sitting up in near-total darkness, she grabbed her gun and started off the bed with a pounding heart, wondering if her savior or her enemy was at the gate.

"Jan?" Stone's voice came through the door, tense and worried. "Jan, are you in there?"

She hurried to unlock and open the door. Standing in the pre-dawn blackness wearing a black windbreaker and a Carolina Panthers ballcap, Stone was the most welcome sight her eyes had ever seen.

They embraced briefly before he motioned for her to get her things. "Let's go," he instructed, taking her suitcase from her and carrying it to his Ford Taurus. He had left the engine running and she wondered if he had half-expected to find her dead. "You can tell me all about it on the way to someplace safer."

"You have somewhere in mind?" Marlow inquired hopefully, climbing into the passenger's seat.

"I do. It's about forty, forty-five minutes from here, in the city." Stone slid behind the wheel and headed for the exit. "Now, tell me what the hell is going on."

Thirty minutes later, Marlow had brought Stone up to speed on the Drexler, Burchell and Fog, Traveler, Westbrook, the Fourth Branch, and her suspicions regarding Chambers. His frown deepened the longer she talked. She couldn't blame him for being puzzled and skeptical; the tale was fanciful, no doubt, the stuff of crackpot conspiracy theories and cheap spy novels. But she also knew that Stone would believe her, because it was her.

"Well," he commented when she had finished, "whether this Kim Doherty has talked yet or not, I'll bet you anything Chambers is having you monitored, so by now his men have figured out you didn't just step out for groceries. You're sure you weren't followed out of the city?"

"Positive," Marlow replied, reminding him with a bit of a grin, "You know, Harold, I am an FBI agent. I can spot a tail."

"These people are a hell of a lot better trained than you or I, Jan. I wouldn't be too cocky about being able to handle them."

Something about his words struck Marlow as odd. "These people?" she echoed. "You sound like you know something about this…"

A cold knot of dread formed underneath her ribcage. For the first time, Marlow wondered if she had been foolish to call Stone. Was it possible she hadn't known him as well as she thought she did? Or that in the five years since she had been his closest companion, he had changed immeasurably?

_Look at Traveler: He convinced Burchell and Fog he was a completely different person for two years. How well do we ever really know someone?_

Stone cut his eyes toward her in such a way that Marlow knew instantly he had been holding back. Surreptitiously, aware that she was trapped in a vehicle with a highly-trained agent and former Marine, Marlow slid her hand down to the .9-millimeter pistol holstered on her hip.

"Don't go for your gun, Jan," Stone grunted. He was exiting the freeway in a rather dingy part of town, though it didn't exactly qualify as the ghetto. "I'm not your enemy. But yes, there are some things I haven't been completely up-front with you about."

The knot of dread tightened, making it difficult for Marlow to catch her breath. She tried to keep the fear out of her voice and, on the whole, succeeded. "Such as?"

"Such as," Stone answered, pulling into the parking lot of a small tavern that appeared to be closed for the night, "about two weeks ago, just after your partner called me on your behalf to ask about Otis Whaley, I was contacted by a man who claimed to have information about your suspects, Burchell and Fog. I agreed to meet with him because I thought I might find out something that would help your case.

"Turns out," Stone went on, turning to face her so she could read the truth of his words in his eyes, "this guy I met with used to be involved with the Fourth Branch. Specifically with this project Hometown. He helped train agents. But about four years ago, he got disillusioned when he found out what Jack Freed was actually using Hometown to do – to hit American targets, to keep the terror level elevated, all of that good stuff. So since then, he's been trying to take down Freed and anybody else involved with Hometown."

Marlow could see that Stone believed every word he was telling her. Still, she couldn't stop herself from asking, "And you've been able to verify all of this?"

"Most of it, yes. Some of it is too highly-classified even for me." He grinned at her the way she had at him minutes earlier. "I am an NSA agent, Jan. I know how to follow up a suspect's story."

She was having difficulty finding humor in the situation, however. In fact, Marlow's temper was beginning to flare.

"You knew about all of this," she said slowly, trying to rein in her anger. "You knew about the Fourth Branch and Hometown and Jack Freed over a week ago, and you never told me?"

Stone sighed heavily. "I wanted to, Jan, but this man – Franklin, Tyrese Franklin, that's his name – convinced me that you'd be much safer the less you knew. I was trying to protect you," Stone insisted. "If I'd had any idea that Chambers was involved, if Franklin had even alluded to that, I would have called you in a second. I wasn't hanging you out to dry, Jan, I swear to God. I just thought you'd be okay so long as your investigation didn't get too close to these people, and Franklin said you were still pretty wide of the mark, so…"

Marlow knew that some of her anger was irrational. Stone wasn't to blame for Borjes' death; only Fred Chambers had to answer for that, in her book. Yet some of her indignation was, she believed, justified.

"How could you put so much faith in someone you just met?" she demanded of her former lover, hearing the tremor in her voice as she fought to control her emotions. "How could you just assume that this Franklin would know enough about how my investigation was progressing to let you know when I needed to be brought into the loop? My partner got killed, Harold, and I nearly did too, because I went in blindly thinking I could trust the people I work for to be on my side – "

"I know. I know, I should have told you," Stone broke in. He held up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry that I didn't. Sorrier than you can imagine. I never wanted you or anyone you cared about to be hurt, Jan."

His words defused her anger, leaving her empty and tired. She closed her eyes for a moment until she regained some of her composure. Then she pressed, "That doesn't explain why you were so ready to trust this Franklin. I still have my doubts about Westbrook, even after everything I've learned."

"Well, it's a little…complicated. You see, Franklin's military. Former military, anyway. Marines."

_The Good Old Boys' Club. _Marlow turned a sour expression on Stone, who started to protest, but before he could another realization dawned on her: "Marines – wait a minute, he's First Recon, isn't he?"

Stone nodded. He looked thankful to have a topic besides his innate trust of anyone military to latch onto. "That's right. He was a lifer until he decided Freed had to be stopped."

"So, is Traveler military, then?"

"No. Trained by them, but not one of them. It's the same with all Hometown agents," Stone explained. He lifted a hand to stem the flood of questions Marlow was prepared to unleash on him. "Look, Jan, I know we have a lot to talk about, but I really think we should go inside first."

Marlow glanced at the closed tavern in surprise. "In there? What's in there?"

"Not what. Who," Stone replied. "I'd like to introduce you to Tyrese Franklin, Jan. I think he'll be able to answer your questions a lot better than I could."

**Part 2**

Although she fully appreciated the severity of their dilemma, Kate also enjoyed watching Will work. He was one of the best operatives she had ever seen; looking in on him from afar for two years had proven that to her, but in working one-on-one with him she was quickly coming to see just how talented he really was. She was consistently amazed by his ability to anticipate an enemy's next move, his ability to cast far into the future when creating a back-up plan, his ability to take stock of a situation and respond to it in seconds.

The fact that he turned to her for advice and guidance, that he treated her like a real partner in the situation, gave her an inordinate amount of satisfaction as well. It was all she could do not to grin from ear-to-ear like a lovesick schoolgirl every time he sought her out for an opinion.

_He's just trying to keep us all alive – he'd be turning to anyone he thought could help him do that. It's nothing to do with you._

Knowing that didn't stop Kate's feelings from running wild, however. She had known long before the Drexler bombing that she was mad about Will Traveler. Yet talking to him, touching him, plotting with him and occasionally laughing with him had led her into something more than infatuation. Holding him beside Maya's grave, crying with him while he clung to her as if she were the only thing anchoring him to this earth, Kate had been struck by how swiftly her obsession with Will Traveler was morphing into something much deeper, much more substantial.

_The more I find out about him, the more I want to know – the more I care for him. I'm really, truly falling in love…_

These were her thoughts as Jay drove toward Baltimore, with Tyler riding shotgun and she and Will in the backseat surrounded by the files from Buchanan's country estate as well as blueprints of John Hopkins University Hospital one of Kate's contacts had hastily emailed to her. Tyler and Will were both sound asleep; Jay and Tyler had traded drivers about an hour ago, and during the transition Kate had awoken from her own pleasant dreams.

Dreams of Will, who looked so like an angel with his head tipped back against the seat and his chest rising and falling with his slow, rhythmic breathing…

Now, she glanced up and caught Jay watching her in the rearview mirror. She offered him a wan smile. He had made no attempt to hide his distrust of her, but she thought she spotted something else in his eyes – a kind of knowing look that made her blush.

"You really care about him, don't you?" Jay asked.

Kate considered denying it. After all, was it any of Jay's business how she felt about Will? Then again, she supposed it was, since that was why she had sought them out in the first place. So she answered honestly, "Yes. My whole life has been wrapped up in him for the past two years. It's hard to imagine a time when I won't see him everyday."

"You should tell him how you feel."

The kindness in Jay's voice surprised her. She met his gaze in the mirror and admitted, "I figured you'd want me as far away from your friend as possible. I get the idea you don't like me too much."

Jay shrugged. "I don't know how much of your story to believe, that's all. I've been lied to so much, I'm starting to wonder if I can tell the difference between what's true and what's not."

"Well, you are a lawyer," Kate couldn't resist teasing. "I think that line would've gotten blurry for you before long anyway."

They shared a quiet laugh over that. Jay didn't say anything more as the miles fell away behind them and Baltimore loomed along with the dawn on the horizon, but somehow, Kate knew their relationship had passed an important milestone. She had a feeling Jay would be more apt to trust her now, and she was glad of it. He was a good man.

Tyler woke before Will. They were on the outskirts of the city, well ahead of the morning rush hour. "We're there?" he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Christ, Jay, how fast did you drive?"

"As fast as I thought I could get away with," Jay answered. Kate's heart went out to the both of them. She could only imagine the anguish of knowing someone she loved was in the clutches of the Fourth Branch.

Her eyes were automatically drawn to Will. _If we fail today, I may find out how that feels all too soon…_

"So what's the plan?" Tyler inquired of Kate, twisting around to offer her a good-morning smile. She couldn't help smiling back despite her fear: Tyler was so easy to like. "I'm assuming you two super-spies have something cool up your sleeves."

In fact, before allowing themselves some much-needed sleep Kate and Will had concocted what she considered a very smart plan. Jay and Tyler were way, way too conspicuous to enter the hospital; even if, by some miracle, the men guarding Carlton didn't recognize them, the chances that an employee or patient or visitor would were extremely high. Kate and Will, on the other hand, were not known to the general public, and they were much more adept than their civilian friends at staying out-of-sight when they didn't want to be seen. So they had decided that Jay and Tyler would be their wheelmen – they would never actually enter the hospital.

She and Will were going to slip in through the kitchens. According to the blueprints Kate had obtained, food was delivered to the hospital through an enormous truck-bay connected to the kitchens by a long hallway. That hallway was flanked on either side by huge freezers where perishable items were stored, and above it ran a long duct, big enough for one person to shimmy through at a time, that contained the pipes and hoses which kept the freezers running. This duct was accessible through the truck-bay (which was empty when deliveries weren't being made) and appeared to come out in a small storage closet behind the kitchens.

Using the duct as a means of entry would prevent them from being spotted by any guards the Branch might have at the entrances, including the side and employee entrances. It would also keep them off the security cameras for a while. Both of those were positive things.

Once inside the hospital, the two of them would sneak into a supply closet, don some hospital employee uniforms and, with any luck, also swipe a food cart, which would give them a pretense to take the food-service elevators instead of the main ones. From there, they would head directly for Carlton Fog's room, which, according to Kate's blueprints, would most likely be on the third floor in a private wing reserved for VIP patients. Fog's arrest had not been made official following his injury; he had been, they had heard on the radio the night before, classified as a "person of interest" in the Drexler case. Therefore, he wouldn't be housed in the part of the hospital dedicated to prisoners. He was just another rich man in need of medical attention.

They hadn't been able to determine the severity of Carlton's injuries, so from the point of gaining access to the third floor, they would be improvising. If he was hurt too badly to move, Kate would try to create a distraction that would keep the guards away from his room long enough for Will to extract a taped confession from him. If he wasn't, they would try to overpower the guards together and take Carlton down the food service elevators and directly out a back door that opened into an alley. There, Tyler and Jay would be waiting with their get-away car.

Nothing fancy, but the best plans were usually straight-forward.

By the time Kate finished explaining the plan to Tyler and Jay, both of whom listened with rapt attention and appeared to approve, they were within miles of the hospital. The sun had risen, bathing the city in a golden midsummer glow. Kate thought longingly of her air-conditioned house and in-ground pool back in D.C. Working for Freed had some perks, one of which was a generous salary and living expenditures; she had become accustomed to a softer existence than this. Yet, honestly, she wouldn't have gone back to how things were before the Drexler bombing even if she could have: She was happier being Kaitlyn Westbrook again, and she had never been happier than she was being with Will.

Who, she realized, needed to be woken up. While Tyler and Jay talked quietly together about possible escape routes in the streets surrounding the hospital, she reached out and gently touched Will's hand.

His fingers curled around hers. "Maya," he murmured.

Kate couldn't have been more stung if he had slapped her across the face. Her cheeks flamed as she felt Jay's eyes flicker over her from the front seat. Maybe she shouldn't have been so honest about her feelings for Will after all, seeing as how he was still madly in love with Maya.

_Focus. It doesn't matter. _

_The mission matters. Staying alive matters. So focus._

"Will," she said, perhaps more loudly than was strictly necessary. His eyes, hazy with sleep, flew open. "Will, we're almost there."

As his vision cleared, Will bestowed a soft, sweet smile on Kate that made her heart flip over. "Morning," he said, tilting his head toward her so that a stray lock of hair fell across his forehead. She barely resisted the urge to brush it back into place.

Will's fingers remained wrapped around hers. Kate's heart began to pound when she let herself think of how it would be to wake up beside him for real, to see that tender smile and tousled hair after a night spent making love –

_Hold it right there, Kaitlyn. Now Is Not The Time._

"How'd you sleep?" Tyler asked from the front seat.

"Better once Jay stopped snoring," Will quipped. Jay pulled a face at him over his shoulder. Laughing, Will turned to Kate and explained, "Our first night in the Castle, Tyler and I had to go buy earplugs so we could sleep."

Tyler looked back at her, eyes sparkling with laughter. "It's the truth, I swear to God. It sounded like a bear was in the house."

Kate's heart burned as she thought of how deeply these three friends really did care for one another. Watching Will on video, hearing his carefully-scripted conversations on audio recordings, she had begun to realize quite early on in his mission that he liked Jay and Tyler. But it had not been until almost a year ago that she had suspected that he was coming to see them as brothers – brothers he would do anything to protect…

It had happened during their first spring break together, a spring break the three friends – all avid climbers – had spent hiking in Grand Teton National Park. After a grueling day and a half on the mountain (they had opted for the Owen-Spalding route, the most dangerous but also the most exciting climb), the three had treated themselves to a night in a five-star ski resort near the park. She had watched the resort's security tape, complete with audio, in her apartment before their return flight even landed at New Haven Regional Airport.

Within thirty minutes of checking in, Tyler was in the hotel bar tying one on. Jay and Will accompanied him, although they paced themselves. Kate watched as Tyler slammed back shot after shot of top-shelf whiskey while flirting shamelessly with the pretty blonde barkeep, not seeming to notice the tall, muscular, bearded man in a flannel shirt who kept glaring out at him from the kitchen.

More than once, Will – whom Kate knew had not overlooked the jealous local taking note of the rich kid hitting on his girl – tried to persuade Tyler to leave off drinking and return to the room. It wasn't until nearly midnight, however, when Tyler was so blackly drunk that Will and Jay had to half-carry him to the elevator, that he agreed to leave.

As they left the bar, Tyler called over his shoulder, "Room 618, baby, come up when your shift's over…"

"Jesus," Jay muttered, hauling Tyler forward. "Like we're going to sit around watching while you go at it with some barmaid, Tyler."

"I paid for the room." Tyler was a bad drunk, Kate had seen it before. "If I want to fuck in it, you guys'll have to get lost."

"Shut-up, Tyler," Will hissed, glancing back at the bearded figure staring them down from the doorway of the bar. "Just shut the fuck up."

The security tapes showed Will and Jay steadying Tyler between them during the ride to the sixth floor. Meanwhile, the bearded man left the bar with two equally-brawny friends in tow and, by using the room-service elevator, managed to make it to the sixth floor where they stationed themselves in front of Room 618 just as the three friends stumbled off the guest elevators.

The three men stepped forward as the doors slid shut behind Will, Jay and Tyler. Jay began frantically poking the button to recall the car, but it was already on its way back down to pick up other guests. They were trapped.

"You." The jealous boyfriend pointed at Tyler, who seemed unable to bring him into focus from the way he was squinting. "That was my wife you were hitting on."

"Perfect," Jay mumbled. To the man, he said quickly, "Look, sir, I apologize on behalf of my friend. He's drunk. I assure you, he didn't mean any offense."

"He asked my wife up to his room," the bearded man boomed, slamming one enormous fist into the other. "What gives some rich prick like him the right to treat a woman like that when she's just trying to earn an honest living, huh?"

As the man advanced, Kate watched Will shift his weight so that, rather than supporting Tyler, he was poised for a spring. She waited tensely, wondering if he was about to blow his cover by revealing his hand-to-hand combat skills. If he took out three men by himself, she didn't see how he could possibly maintain the fiction of being a mere chemical engineering grad student – at least not with Jay, who was stone-cold sober.

The fierce look in Will's eyes, however, told her that regardless of the consequences he would not hesitate to rip the man's Adam's apple from his throat if he came near to harming Jay or Tyler.

Still punching the elevator button furiously, Jay tried once more to smooth things over. "It doesn't give him any right, and if he wasn't so drunk, he would know that. I'm really, really sorry. We'll be happy to apologize to your wife once he sobers up – "

"I will not." Tyler sounded indignant and petulant. Will kicked him sharply in the ankle, but Tyler was either too drunk to feel it or too drunk to care. "An honest living, huh? I got news for you, man, your wife was practically coming across that bar at me. I thought she was gonna blow me right there – "

With a guttural roar, the bearded man rushed at them. In that instant, the elevator pinged and the doors slid open. What happened next occurred so quickly Kate had to rewind the tape twice to understand it fully.

As the doors opened, Will shoved Tyler into the car with enough force to cause Jay to also stumble in backwards. The two crashed to the floor, Tyler falling on top of Jay. At the same time, Will moved slightly to the side of the charging husband's path; from that position, he was not visible to Jay or Tyler, who were caught in a tangle of arms and legs on the elevator floor.

The enraged man, believing he had a clear shot at his prey, took no notice of Will, who waited until the man was even with him to bring his right hand down in a neat karate-chop to the would-be attacker's neck.

The man collapsed just shy of the elevator. Jay was leaping to his feet, shouting, "Will!" as the elevator doors closed in his face.

Alone in the hallway, Will calmly regarded the jealous husband's two friends. "Now you assholes listen to me," he said, in a clear, icy voice that stopped their menacing advance cold. "I'm not going to uphold what my friend did. He's drunk and he's an idiot. But if either of you do anything more than pick your friend here up and get the hell out of here, I will take you apart. We clear on that?"

The bigger of the two men snorted, although his attempt at derisiveness felt rather false given the wary distance he was keeping from the much-smaller Will. "Whatever, Leprechaun. Like we couldn't take you."

"So take me." Will spread his palms, inviting the attack.

Though he looked as if he would rather not have, the bigger man seemed too proud not to attack. He flew at Will with balled-up fists that, had they made contact, would easily have cracked Will's skull; as it was, the lighter, more agile Will easily ducked the blows and delivered a one-two punch to the man's gut that dropped him to his knees. From there, Will kicked his opponent squarely in the face, flattening his nose in a spray of blood.

The other friend lifted hands and backed up several paces to show that he would not be taking Will up on his invitation.

Will knelt beside the jealous husband, who was groaning and holding the side of his head. "I could have killed you," he informed his victim quietly.

The pained moans stilled instantly as the man sensed the truth behind Will's words.

"I could have hit you here," Will drug his fingertip across the man's throat, "and crushed your windpipe. But I decided to give you a chance to reconsider threatening me and my friends. I don't give second chances. Are we clear on that?"

Mutely, the fallen man nodded.

"Good." Will stood up. Kate could hear the elevator approaching and knew Will could, too. To the husband's friends, the larger of whom was clutching at his profusely-bleeding nose, he said, "Get your friend out of here. He just needs to rest for a while and he'll be fine."

They moved hastily to follow his orders, splattering blood as they drug their friend between them down the hall back toward the room-service elevators. They had no more than gotten inside when Jay and Tyler finally made it back to the sixth floor.

Jay sagged with relief when he saw Will still in one piece. "Jesus, Will, what the hell happened?" he demanded, helping a swaying, semi-conscious Tyler into the hall. "I thought they'd have pummeled you – no offense, man, but those guys were huge…"

"I tripped the guy, and then hotel security showed up," Will replied without hesitation or guile. Kate was impressed by his quick thinking and self-possession. "Guess somebody heard the commotion and called them. I thought I was in for it when those doors closed…"

Although technically Will had done nothing wrong, Kate did not show the tape to Freed. It was the look in his eyes when his friends were threatened – the same look she had seen on soldiers' faces when their comrades were being overrun, the same look she had seen on older brothers' faces when their younger siblings were being bullied. Will would have killed for the two men he would soon be asked to dispose of himself…

Kate stirred herself from her memories to find the boys still laughing about Jay's snoring problem. Jay was saying sheepishly, "I know, it's so embarrassing. I've tried everything, I really have – even hypnosis."

"When did you do hypnosis?" Tyler demanded incredulously.

"Remember that weird guy with the crystal necklaces who used to hang out at the library? He hypnotized me a few times, said it would solve the problem."

"Damn, Jay," Will piped up. "I didn't know you cared so much that Tyler and I got our beauty sleep."

"Screw you guys," Jay shot back, "I was afraid Kim was going to kick me out of bed."

The mention of Kim brought them all crashing back to the unpleasant present. "Pull around there, to the parking garage," Will instructed Jay, all business once more, despite the fact that his fingers were still linked through Kate's on the seat between them. "Go up to the third level…Yeah, that's good, take that spot…Okay, you guys wait here for ten minutes and then drive down to the back alley."

Jay and Tyler looked as nervous as Kate felt. "What happens if you don't come out?" Tyler asked. "How long do we wait?"

"Give us forty minutes, total," Will replied. If he was frightened or nervous, his voice did not reflect it. "If we're not out by then, drive away. Get somewhere far out of the city and plan your next move. With all this stuff," he gestured at the files piled on the seats and floorboards, "you can find something to make the Branch deal with you for Kim and Liz."

"Just come back," Jay ordered firmly, turning to look at both Kate and Will. "We're all in this together, remember, Will?"

"I remember." Will gave Kate's hand a reassuring squeeze before slipping his fingers out of hers and opening the door. Following him out of the car, Kate shoved her hand in her pocket, wanting to preserve the warmth of his touch for as long as possible.

They took the stairs to the sidewalk and moved briskly to the alleyway which led to the truck-bay. Kate knew Will, like her, would be mentally reviewing the plan as they walked, so she made no attempt at conversation. Her own emotions were too confused at the moment, what with the adrenaline rush of an impending op and the lovesickness of holding Will's hand for five minutes pouring through her, for her to feel like talking anyway.

When they reached the truck-bay, Will checked that no one was around before sidling up to the key-pad by the truck entrance. "These things are too easy," he observed, sliding a wickedly-sharp knife from an ankle holster and using it to slice the wires connecting the key-pad to the brick outer wall. Immediately, the garage door rolled upward with a disturbingly-loud rattle.

"Let's hope nobody heard that," he voiced for both of them as they stepped into the large, dimly-lit truck-bay. Kate pushed a button that brought the door closed again, thankfully with less noise.

Within two minutes, they had piled up boxes to stand on and Will had pried the grate off the duct, which opened into the truck-bay just above the door leading into the freezer area. He returned his knife to its holster and offered Kate a hand up onto the boxes beside him. Their perch was shaky, to say the least; she had to hold onto his forearms to keep from toppling over until the empty boxes stopped swaying.

She was reminded suddenly of their first meeting and wondered if Will was, too. She knew her racing heartbeat had much more to do with his nearness than it did the possibility of facing dozens of armed men in a few minutes' time.

"Ladies first?" Will asked.

Kate looked up at him. They were pressed so close together, her nose bumped the underside of his chin as she lifted her face. Just as on the first night they had met, she heard him draw in a quick, sharp breath.

_KAITLYN, NOW IS NOT THE TIME._

"Sure," she agreed. "If you think you can lift me…"

"I don't think that'll be a problem."

Telling herself that she was imagining the smoky hue turning his blue-green eyes a deep azure – _he's in love with Maya, stop reading so much into his every move, _she lectured herself sternly – Kate carefully turned to face the wall. Will stood behind her, feet braced shoulder-width apart, and grasped her waist to give her a boost as she used the lip of the duct to haul herself up and into the round, narrow space.

"Oh my God it's cold in here!" Kate gasped. A blast of icy air hit her full in the face; her teeth were chattering before she had crawled in far enough to allow Will, who she could hear reaching back out to toss boxes away from their entry point, enough space to crawl inside. She glanced back while he secured the grate (which he had placed inside the duct after removing it) back in place.

"How long is this thing?" she asked, shivering from head to toe. She could hardly bring herself to touch the frigid metal sides with her bare skin.

"Long," Will answered grimly, shivering himself. "Just go as quick as you can."

They had no choice but to shimmy forward. Kate feared she would have frostbite on her exposed cheeks and fingers; she knew her knees and elbows would be bruised from using them to haul herself along the passage, but if she touched the metal with the palms of her hands, her skin felt as if it had been seared. Behind her, she could hear Will breathing heavily. Her own breath became painful from the icy air. She hadn't anticipated this – how stupid of her, not to think that a duct running atop huge freezers would be a freezer in and of itself –

Just when she thought they would never make it to the end, that they would simply freeze to death and their frozen corpses would never be found, Kate saw the end of the duct ahead. Keeping her bare skin off the metal, she twisted around so her feet were in front of her. Braced on her elbows, she delivered a vicious, desperate kick to the grate blocking their exit.

It fell to the floor below with a horrific clatter.

_Way to announce our arrival…_

There had been no other way, though, without freezing her fingers to the frosted metal. Kate peeked out into the storage room. To her immense relief, it was empty except for a half-dozen shelves holding boxes of canned goods. She waited a painful half-minute to see if anyone would come rushing into the closet after hearing the racket she had made, but the room remained empty, without the tell-tale scuffle of approaching footsteps.

She jumped down and stepped out of the way for Will to follow her. They were both trembling violently; a check of her watch told Kim they had been unprotected in freezing temperatures for nearly fifteen minutes.

"I am so cold," she managed through chattering teeth.

"Come here." Will pulled her to him. For one glorious second, Kate thought he intended to kiss her – she saw his mouth come within inches of hers – but then, as he hugged her close to his chest and began rubbing her back and arms vigorously with his cold hands, she understood: He was using body heat to warm them.

Disappointed and furious with herself for being so, Kate slipped her arms around him and chafed his skin through his shirt as well, working the circulation back into his half-frozen skin. She couldn't suppress a smile as she thought what a sight they would make if anyone opened the door. Hopefully, they could pass themselves off as two randy employees having a quickie in the storage closet.

_That would be another way to warm up…_

Before her thoughts could run away with her again, Kate stepped back from Will and declared, "I think I'm warm enough to go on. You?"

He nodded. His cheeks had returned to a more normal color than the cherry-red they had been minutes before; she noted that her own skin was less red and frozen-looking. He led the way to the door, checked the hallway, and moved swiftly, with Kate just steps behind him, to a nearby supply closet where they pulled green scrubs on over their jeans and shirts.

Half-freezing to death aside, the plan went remarkably well until they reached the third floor. Six armed men stood sullenly around Carlton's room; they barely glanced at Kate and Will as they steered a food cart up to the door. Kate's heart was pounding in her throat. If they asked for IDs, if they called the kitchen to check that Carlton's breakfast had been sent up, they were in trouble…

She shifted her hip to feel the reassuring weight of her .9-millimeter pistol holstered there, hidden by a long-sleeved tee-shirt and the bulky green scrub top. Six men would be difficult to take out all at once. Having seen Will in action before and knowing what she herself was capable of, though, Kate was certain that they could do it if they had to.

But they wouldn't be able to complete their mission if it came down to blasting their way out. All of the risk would have been for nothing, and Kim and Liz would still be in just as much danger with as little hope of being rescued.

Her worries turned out to be for nothing, however, because the half-asleep guard at the door to Carlton's room simply waved them in, muttering something about how nice it must be to get room service. The heavy door fell shut behind them as soon as Kate and Will pushed the cart through, and in seconds, they were alone with their target.

Carlton Fog lay in a large hospital bed hooked to an IV and a heart monitor. Kate quickly noted that he did not appear to be in critical condition any longer; he had no respirator, not even an oxygen tank, and nothing hooked to his IV besides a morphine pain pump and a bag of antibiotics. A large bandage over the right side of his chest was visible beneath his thin hospital-issue blue pajamas.

No guards inside the room, she realized, with a mild sense of irritation at the audacity of the Fourth Branch. Apparently, they thought it so unlikely that anyone would attempt to harm or to rescue Carlton Fog while he was under their watch that they found it almost unnecessary to guard him.

_Or maybe the gods are smiling on us today._

Carlton turned toward them with a weak smile. "Breakfast already? You're a lot faster than yesterday – "

He broke off mid-sentence as Will approached the bed. "Will? Will Traveler?"

Carlton's jaw dropped. Kate saw a flurry of emotions cross the older man's face: hope, fear, anger, despair. "Jesus, Will, what are you doing here?"

"We came for you, Carlton." Will spoke without any malice. Kate remembered that he and Carlton had worked together before this mission, although she had never been able to find out on what. "Freed tried to have you killed. If you stay here, he'll finish the job. If you come with us, we might be able to help you."

"You're not here to help me, Will." Carlton's voice was also free of any ill-will. He spoke matter-of-factly, as if they were discussing the weather instead of his fate. "You're here because I can help you."

"The outcome's still the same for you," Will rejoined, shrugging in a way that suggested he couldn't care less what Carlton believed about his motives. "You come with us, you're not under the Fourth Branch's guard anymore."

"Really?" Carlton's eyes moved to Kate, who was standing between the bed and the door with her hand on her gun, ready for one of the guards to burst in. "I hate to break it to you, Will, but she's Fourth Branch."

"Not in the way you think," Kate shot back. Her eyes went to Will's, conveying silently that they needed to move before the guards became suspicious about why Carlton's eggs and toast were taking so long to distribute.

Carlton caught their look and, after the slightest hesitation, kicked off the covers. "You'll have to help me," he said to Will, who moved quickly to his side. "The IV – "

"Hang on." Will ripped the tape off Carlton's arm, causing Kate to wince with sympathy-pain, and slid the IV out. Meanwhile, Carlton was popping off electrodes; the monitor had started to beep frantically.

"They'll be coming now," Kate realized. If the guards weren't suspicious, the nurses would be racing their way to see if Mr. Fog was dead or if he had simply dislodged an electrode.

At just that moment, the door swung open and a muscular, dark-skinned man with short, peroxide-blonde hair stepped in. Kate had no time to react before he raised a .25-caliber pistol and aimed it directly at her head.

"Whaley!"

Will's shout startled the intruder, who started to swing the gun toward him. Kate reacted on instinct and training: She delivered a powerful kick to the man's wrist that sent the gun flying and him toppling sideways in pain, the bones in his forearm broken.

"Get Fog out of here," Will snapped at Kate, shoving the injured man toward her. In the hallway, she could hear footsteps and knew their escape route was blocked. But Will was already on it. He grabbed the heavy food cart they had used as part of their cover and rammed it against the door, blocking the guards' only entrance.

Kate understood that the windows and the fire escape were their only chance now. She helped Carlton over to the window in the farthest corner and tugged at the sash, thankful that it opened almost effortlessly.

Behind her, the blonde-haired man had recovered from his injury enough to stand. Will was squaring off with him. Whaley, Will had called him. Kate didn't recognize the name, but she could tell by the way Will was watching him that whoever he was, Whaley was dangerous.

Kate gave Carlton a hand over the windowsill onto the metal fire escape where he was, for the time being, relatively out of harm's way. Then, sliding her gun free of its holster, she turned back toward the room.

_You won't take him. You won't take Will, you son of a bitch._

The would-be killer obviously thought he was hot stuff: He smirked at Will as he circled him, feinting a few attacks with a long, bone-handled knife. Will's jaw was set, his expression blank, as he regarded the other man, totally focused on the kill.

"C'mon, Traveler," Whaley sneered, brandishing his knife. "Thought you liked pig-sticking. Forget your knife at home?"

Will didn't respond. He waited in silence for the other man to summon his courage and rush at him. It happened within moments: Whaley lunged forward, swinging the hand holding the knife up and forward, a perfect kill-shot to the abdomen not unlike the one Will had used on Kate in that fake hotel room.

_Oh God no, please no…_

Deftly, just when Kate thought the knife would plunge into his belly, Will danced to the left. Whaley continued forward, stumbling, knocked off-balance by his own inertia.

_You're mine, asshole._

Kate did not hesitate. As Whaley spun around for a counter-attack, she squeezed the trigger of her pistol twice. The bullets slammed home between Whaley's shoulder blades with such force that he was half-lifted onto the hospital bed.

The cart was beginning to give as a half-dozen men shoved on it from the other side. Will hardly glanced at Whaley's twitching body as he made for the window and hopped out onto the fire escape with her and Fog.

"Did you know him?" Kate asked, grasping Carlton under one arm while Will took the other side. They started down the rickety fire escape as fast as their legs would carry them.

"Otis Whaley," Will replied, grunting with the effort of supporting Carlton's weight. "He was Freed's pet. I never liked him."

He glanced sideways at her. "Nice shot, by the way."

Kate shrugged modestly. "I figured we were in a hurry. Sorry for interrupting, though," she added teasingly, "I know how much you like knife-fights." Will grinned back at her.

At the bottom of the fire escape, Kate expected to find armed men rushing at them, but the alleyway was clear except for a familiar Ford Explorer barreling their way. "This is our ride," Will told Carlton, whose face was ashen from the exertion of racing down three flights of stairs with a large bullet-hole in his chest. Kate could only imagine the pain he was in; much as she hated to acknowledge it, that would work to their benefit once they were safely away. People were much more willing to talk when it meant easing their suffering.

Tyler leapt out of the passenger's side and flung open the back door as the Explorer screeched to a halt. "Tyler," Carlton groaned, looking ready to pass out.

Tyler ignored his father. "They're coming," he panted, eyes wide with fear. "We saw all kinds of cops and guards and guys with guns running out of the side door back there."

"They know we went out the window," Will said. "Let's move."

At that moment, bullets began to hail down on them from above: The Branch guards had broken through their makeshift barrier and were aiming at them from the windows of Carlton's room. Will shoved Tyler into the front seat with one hand and Kate into the back seat with the other. She didn't have time to think about what it meant for him to save her life before Carlton's, when Carlton was their ostensible ticket out of their current predicament – she just seized Carlton's wrists and hauled him into the car as Will tumbled in behind him, slamming the door shut against the bullets.

"GO!" she and Will shouted together at Jay.

He didn't need to be told twice. With bullets peppering them from behind and above, they tore out of the alleyway into the light early morning traffic, racing away from the hospital and the city before the Baltimore P.D. had time to mount a chase.


	6. Chapter 6

**Episode Six:**

"**The Trade"**

**Parts 3 and 4**

_Author's Note: This "episode" starts with Part 3, continuing from Parts 1 and 2 in Episode Five._

**Part 3**

Tyler had never deluded himself that taking his father hostage would be easy for him. But before their small band of fugitives arrived at a ramshackle cabin Kate directed them to outside of the city more than an hour later, he was concerned that he wouldn't be able to stand back and watch his father be tortured for information.

Not that anyone had suggested torturing Carlton at this point. In fact, Kate had produced a syringe of morphine from the black backpack she carried with her and had injected Carlton with the painkiller the moment they were safely away from the hospital. Will had helped her lay Carlton out across the backseat, using his own jacket as a pillow for Carlton's head. Kate had traded places with Tyler so he could sit in the floorboard beside his father; Will had perched on the far end of the seat near Carlton's bare feet.

"He looks bad," Tyler observed more than once during their drive.

"He's okay," Kate would assure him each time. "He wasn't on any kind of life-support or anything. He's out of the woods, Tyler – he just needs rest."

No one mentioned that they were planning to hand Carlton back over to the people who wanted him dead as soon as they extracted information from him. Tyler didn't need reminding: After all, it had been his plan.

_What if I can't go through with it? What happens to Kim and Liz then?_

Stealing a glance at Will's clenched jaw, Tyler realized he would in all likelihood not be allowed to back out of their plan anyway. It wasn't like he could overpower Will, Kate and Jay. Hell, it wasn't like he could overpower just Will.

That knowledge eased his conscience a bit. So did his internal voice reminding him that Carlton had gotten them all into this mess, even more so than Will had. Whatever happened now, it was a nightmare of Carlton's own spinning.

The cabin was dirty and sweltering on the inside. Kate rushed around opening windows and wiping down surfaces while Jay hid the car in a nearby grove of trees and Tyler and Will half-walked, half-carried a rapidly-waking Carlton to a rickety cot in the only bedroom.

Kate came in shortly with a bowl of clean, cool water. "Faucet works," she announced.

Tyler took the bowl and rag from her and bathed his father's forehead. Carlton opened his eyes and, with some difficulty, focused on his eldest son's face. "Tyler," he croaked. "Is it really you? I'm not dreaming this?"

"I'm here, Dad." Tyler could hardly speak around the lump in his throat.

"You shouldn't have come back. Freed was expecting you to. Damn that Fred Chambers." Carlton looked to where Will stood leaning against the doorframe. "What did you let him come back for, Will? I thought you were his friend."

"Don't get in a twist, Carlton. This is a rescue mission – but not for you."

Will's words brought a distinctive pallor to Carlton's cheeks. Clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, he said only, "I don't care what you do to me, but don't you do it in front of Tyler. Not in front of my son. Don't you make him watch that."

"Relax, Carlton, I'm not going to hurt you. Unless you make me."

Will sat down on the edge of the cot across from Tyler, talking in a surprisingly amicable tone for a man who was threatening torture. Tyler could tell there was history between his father and Will, but whatever it was, the explanation would have to wait.

Carlton glared, sensing he was caught in a trap and disliking the loss of control. "What's going on here?" he demanded, making a futile attempt to sound as if he were in his boardroom addressing a group of corporate executives. "If I'm not being rescued, who is?"

Will filled Carlton in on their recent adventures, including Kim and Liz's current situation. "So," he concluded, producing a tape-recorder from his pocket, "we're going to have a little conversation, Carlton, and you're going to help us save the lives of two innocent young women."

"You know I can't answer your questions." Carlton's tone and gaze were pleading. He looked from Will to Tyler. "I wish I could explain, but…"

"Give it up, Carlton." Will spoke harshly for the first time during the encounter. "Freed tried to have you killed. Chambers was arresting you, for Christ's sake. Whatever your connections are to these people, they obviously don't consider them sacrosanct. So tell us what we need to know. Do the right thing for once in your goddamn pathetic little life."

Tyler refused to come to his father's aid, although Carlton was begging him to with his eyes. He called to mind a picture of Liz's face and, along with it, a mental image of the burn he had treated on her arm. At that very instant, she could be suffering torture. Carlton could put a stop to all of that; he could secure her freedom and Kim's, and maybe open up doors that would lead them all out of this terrifying maze. Much as he loved his father, much as he wanted to protect him, Tyler affirmed for himself once more that he could not.

"Tyler," Carlton began.

"Tell him, Dad." Tyler's voice was rough with emotion, yet it offered no mercy. "Answer his questions or I swear to God, I will leave this room and I will let him do whatever he has to do to you to get those answers."

A heavy, tense silence hung over the room, during which Tyler prayed that his father would not force him to make good on that threat. At long last, Carlton heaved a deep sigh. "Ask your questions," he mumbled, settling back onto the thin mattress. "It doesn't matter anymore anyway."

For two hours, while Jay, Kate and Tyler perched on metal folding chairs Kate had dug out of a closet, Will paced the room and peppered Carlton with questions. The tape recorder lay on the bed beside the injured man, preserving every question and every answer.

Will fired off his first question: "What do you know about the Fourth Branch?"

"When I was nineteen," Carlton began, propped up on pillows and looking as if he rather enjoyed having a captive audience, "my father sat me down and explained to me what it really meant to be the head of the Fog family. He told me that since his grandfather became part of New York society, the Fogs had served their country by making sure that power stayed where it belonged – not in the hands of 'the people,' who couldn't be trusted to make the hard decisions, but with the people who had the money and the influence and the knowledge to ensure that America stayed on the right course."

"The Fourth Branch," Jay put in.

Carlton nodded. "You have to understand, up until that point in my life I had never given much thought to the privileges I enjoyed. I was a golden son. All around me, boys my age were being sent off to war and coming home in body bags. I knew that would not be my fate, and after my father told me about the Fourth Branch, I understood just how protected we really were. I understood where all of my privileges came from.

"I would like to tell you that it sickened me, but it didn't. I loved my father; I respected him. If he said that being part of this secret society was the way to secure our family's future, I believed him. I didn't ask questions. I just did what he told me to do."

_Sounds like Thad, _Tyler reflected, thinking of his younger brother, who had recently begun his first year of medical residency at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. A brother Tyler had never connected with. A brother who had always hero-worshipped Carlton. A brother he hadn't spoken to in four years.

"You also have to understand, there's a lot about the Fourth Branch I don't know," Carlton went on. "I'm not even close to being at the top of this organization. For a long, long time, my involvement with the Branch was peripheral at best. I served on boards and committees when they asked me to; I rubbed elbows with the right people to make sure that I had some say in what laws were passed. But it wasn't until all of my…troubles about ten years ago that I became deeply involved in Branch business."

By "troubles," they all knew Carlton was referring to his battles with the SEC, which had been followed by a messy divorce from Tyler's mother and a string of ill-fated marriages to money-grubbing women, each one ending in a more public and more humiliating separation than the last. It was during that time that Carlton had built Elysium to escape from the paparazzi – and his mounting number of ex-wives.

"I could have gone to prison," Carlton admitted, looking rather shame-faced. Tyler was pleasantly surprised to see his father expressing any sort of remorse. "That was when I met Maxwell Abrams."

Something clicked in Tyler's mind. He met Jay's eyes and could see the wheels in his brain turning, too. "Abrams," Tyler mused aloud. "Wait, wasn't he on the list of Holloway Insurance stockholders who profited from the Drexler bombing?"

"He's more than that," Will supplied. "He runs Fallbrook Dunn."

"That's right." Carlton shifted slightly and grimaced in pain. Tyler restrained himself from reaching out to comfort his father; they needed to hear the rest of the story, as quickly as possible.

"Fallbrook Dunn swooped in and helped clean up the messes I'd made. At the time, I thought – naively, I admit – that the Branch was helping me out because I was well-placed in New York society, someone they preferred to keep in play instead of having locked up in prison where I would be useless to them.

"It was only after the crisis was averted that Abrams made clear to me what his help would cost. The Branch had done me a favor: I would be expected to repay them."

Disgust crossed Jay's features. "By sacrificing the life of your eldest son? Was it really worth that to stay out of a country-club prison and wriggle out of some alimony?"

Carlton shook his head impatiently. "Tyler's involvement didn't come until much later. The first 'favor' I was asked came from Jack Freed, a man I'd never met before then. He asked me to act as patron to a young man named Ezra Tucker, a new recruit into a top-secret domestic espionage program Abrams called 'Hometown.'"

"Who's Ezra Tucker?" Kate put in, puzzled.

"Me," Will said.

Tyler's heart skipped a beat. Were they about to learn who Will Traveler really was?

"That's your real name?" he asked, sounding as eager as Jay and Kate looked.

Will grated an annoyed glare Tyler's way. "If it was, I wouldn't claim it," he retorted. "But no, it was just my first alias in Hometown."

"What does being a 'patron' mean?" Jay inquired, steering them back on track.

"It meant that I financed Will's operations," Carlton replied. A long, meaningful look passed between Carlton and Will, one so full of history Tyler couldn't suppress a momentary jealousy. In all likelihood, Will knew his father better than Tyler did. "It meant that I supplied him with identities and safehouses, that I helped him network with other members of the Branch without letting him know that the Branch even existed. I was like a godfather, I guess you'd say."

Tyler was beginning to put the pieces together. "Three Continents Investing. Derek Sellars. That was just a front, wasn't it, Dad? You were the one bank-rolling Will's operation at Yale."

"I found that to be particularly cruel on Freed's part," Carlton responded bitterly, his eyes snapping with rage. "To ask me not only to offer you up without even knowing why, but to force me to finance…"

He couldn't seem to bring himself to say "your murder," and Tyler felt a spark of sympathy for his father. No matter what stupid decisions he had made along the way, it seemed to Tyler that Carlton really had been trapped in a situation with no good way out.

Suddenly, Carlton turned to Will. "I would have thought you'd have come to me once you decided you wanted out, Will. I always helped you. I always protected you. You should have known I was looking for a way to get Tyler out myself."

Will stared right back at him. "No offense, Carlton, but it's not like you were ever up-front with me about your motives. The fact that you were willing to sell out your own kid didn't exactly inspire a lot of confidence in me."

He glanced apologetically toward Tyler, who shrugged it off. It hurt, but the truth was the truth.

Turning back to Carlton, Will suggested, "Maybe you should just start at the beginning with what you know about the Drexler bombing. I think we're all a little lost about what happened there."

Carlton nodded. Over the next half-hour, he patiently walked them through a brief history of the Fourth Branch, emphasizing that the organization was not one big, happy family but was, in fact, split into two factions: Those, like Freed, who believed that controlling the American people through violence and chaos was the best way to secure the country's destiny, and those who believed that the Branch's purpose was not to tyrannize people but to actively protect the American way of life by seeking out and destroying her enemies, including enemies within her own borders. Over the years, Carlton told them, that split had deepened, eventually widening into an irreparable chasm. The only thing preventing all-out war was the need for secrecy – no one outside of the Branch could know that the organization existed, all members agreed on that.

For years, a rumor had circulated amongst Branch members that the Shears family (as in the President's family, Carlton confirmed) was plotting to take down the whole organization because members like Freed had gotten too out of control. After the terrorist attacks in 2001, the pendulum had swung in favor of extreme force; Freed and his compatriots were winning the Branch's underground struggle for control of the nation. However, according to the rumors, the Shears family had a secret weapon: A secure computer server that contained enough evidence in the form of video and audio files, photographs, bank records, emails, and so forth to put dozens of high-ranking Branch members away for treason.

Two years earlier, Carlton informed them, Freed had become convinced that the secret of this server's location had died with President Shears' father, former Senator Arlen Shears, who succumbed to a sudden stroke in his Philadelphia mansion. Yet even after the funeral, rumors continued to circulate that Senator Shears had left a map to the server's location hidden underneath the paint of an oil-on-canvas amongst the Shears' family's impressive private art collection. Freed made it known that if President Shears or any member of his family attempted to crack the painting's secrets, he would not hesitate to have them killed; once Shears was elected president, Freed further made it known that the penalty for any Shears family member's betrayal would be an assassination. Because even those members who disagreed with Freed's methods did not want to go to prison, the threat carried a tremendous amount of weight. And so the truth of the rumors had never been tested.

Freed was not a man to allow such a problem to go unchecked forever, however. So, upon the death of Senator Shears, he had tasked Will to begin "spying" on Jay and Tyler, when in reality every piece of surveillance and intelligence Will gathered was being carefully scraped together by Freed's staff in order to frame Jay and Tyler for an act of domestic terror.

For almost eighteen months, Carlton had learned, Freed had intended that act of terror to be the assassination of the President. Hence, Will's "video blog," which continually captured Tyler's rants against Shears.

The hows and whys of carrying out the assassination were still up in the air when Shears – who had, Carlton explained, gotten wind of Freed's plot to do away with him and the threat he posed to the Branch – suddenly announced that his family's private art collection would go on extended loan to the Drexler Museum at the beginning of the summer.

The plan then became quite simple: Destroy the painting. Creating panic in the streets by blowing up a beloved New York landmark and killing hundreds of innocent people was an ancillary benefit of the plan; creating doubt in people's minds about the trustworthiness of their own neighbors was another. For if Americans could perpetrate such acts of violence against one another, Freed's argument would go, no one could be trusted.

Everyone would need to be watched. Everyone would need to be controlled.

"I didn't know any of this when Freed first came to me and ordered me to cut Tyler off," Carlton concluded. "I thought at the time that he wanted Will to spy on my son as a way of getting some kind of dirt on me, so he could keep an even tighter hold on me. My loyalties were always questionable where Freed was concerned. I guess I didn't seem vicious enough to him." Carlton's sardonic tone indicated he was not terribly plussed by Jack Freed's opinion of him.

"Anyway, I didn't find out what the actual plan was until three months ago. That was when President Shears arranged a secret meeting with me," Carlton went on. "He told me about the painting and about the server, which, by the way, he wasn't even certain actually existed. He said his father had never, not once, mentioned this server to him, despite all the rumors. But he couldn't very well find out for sure with Freed threatening to kill him if he so much as took the painting off the wall. So he had come up with a plan to convince Freed that the painting was no longer a danger. Then, after that…"

Suddenly, the pieces fell into place in Tyler's mind, and a great many things made a sick kind of sense. "After that," he picked up the thread, his eyes on his father's face to see if the truth would be reflected there, "Shears would be free to find out if the painting really was a weapon to be used against Freed."

"Wait a minute," Jay protested, standing up. "But that would mean – "

"The painting in the museum was a fake," Will finished. He had dropped onto the windowsill, leaned back, folded his arms across his chest, and tipped his face up toward the ceiling. Tyler knew exactly what Will was thinking.

_All of this – all of this pain and death and suffering – over a fucking forgery._

"Nothing other than the need to stop people like Freed from taking over this country could have persuaded me to sacrifice my own son." Carlton's voice had taken on a pleading note, whether because he honestly felt guilty or because he had seen the four outraged expressions surrounding him Tyler couldn't know. "My first instinct was to go straight to you, Tyler, and tell you everything. But if I did that, I knew Freed would find out. He was watching you all – even you, Will – too closely."

Carlton's gaze slid toward Kate, who reluctantly affirmed this theory. "Freed knew everything that was happening with all three of you. I was tasked to monitor Will, but I know other agents were watching the two of you," she jerked her chin toward Jay and Tyler, "just as intently."

An exciting thought struck Tyler all at once. Jumping to his feet to stand beside Jay, who looked ready to take over Will's pacing, he demanded of his father, "So, has Shears had time to access the map? Has he found the server? That would have everything we would need…to…"

Tyler's voice trailed off as his father's sorrowful expression answered the question for him.

"The painting was nothing more than a painting," Carlton informed them softly. "Shears had it analyzed the very day of the Drexler bombing, while Freed was preoccupied with his terrorist plot and the fact that you two weren't dead as planned. There was no map. If there is a server, no one knows where it is."

_So it really has all been for nothing._

It felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room: Hope seemed lost.

After a long while, Jay finally broke the silence. "Joseph Langdon told Will the Drexler was just the first step in a larger plan." He was staring down hard at Carlton, who squirmed a little under the intensity of his gaze. "What did he mean by that?"

"He meant," Carlton answered baldly, his face scrunching up as a jolt of pain appeared to move through his wound, "that Freed intended the Drexler as his opening salvo. He and the Branch members who share his point of view have every intention of continuing to create just enough chaos on American soil to make people willing to give up their precious freedoms in order to stave off total disaster.

"You see," Carlton reasoned, "if you were to bring all-out war to this country, people would fight with everything they have to protect those freedoms. But if you just give them a taste of how precarious those freedoms are, a pinch of terror followed up by promises of safety and security, you'd be amazed how many civil liberties people are willing to sacrifice for what they are convinced is the 'greater good.'"

Will was still staring at the ceiling. Tonelessly, he said, "Carlton, I'm going to ask you three more questions. If you lie to me, I will kill you right here, right in front of your son. Do you understand me?"

His lack of emotion chilled Tyler's blood. Carlton paled but answered strongly, "Yes."

"How many members of the Fourth Branch know that Shears hid the real painting and that it didn't contain any map?"

"So far as I know," Carlton swallowed audibly, "only me. Shears was too afraid of the other members wanting the painting destroyed as badly as Freed to trust them. He knew I had a reason to want it kept safe, because of what I was being forced to do to my own flesh and blood."

"Good. What did Shears do with the real painting once he realized it was a fake?"

A spasm of fear crossed Carlton's face. "I…He destroyed it. I didn't have any say in it, or I would have insisted that he keep it, as a bluff if nothing else. But he thought if Freed found out the painting was still in existence, he'd kill him rather than run the risk that it actually contained a map."

"Okay. Is the Fourth Branch planning a bioterrorist attack on United States soil?"

"I don't know." Carlton winced as Will sat forward. "I swear it, Will. I don't know."

_Please God let him be telling the truth…_

Tyler didn't know if he could stand by while Will murdered his father or not. Apparently sensing this, Jay placed a restraining hand on his friend's shoulder and shook his head silently, as if to say, _Let Will handle it._

Fortunately, however, Will appeared to accept Carlton's answers. He nodded curtly, stood, and told their injured captive, "I'll send Kate back in with a morphine shot here in a minute, okay? You need to rest."

Heaving a sigh of relief, Carlton murmured, "Thank you, Will."

Without responding, Will motioned for the others to follow him into the kitchen. "I think he's told us everything that could be of any use," he declared once they were out of earshot of the bedroom. "I think it's time to call Chambers and arrange the exchange."

Filling a syringe by the sink, Kate looked doubtful, which was how Tyler felt. "I don't know, Will. We haven't really got much to offer in return for Kim and Liz."

"We have a bluff," Will stated simply. Tyler felt Jay stiffen beside him and knew exactly what he was thinking. Kate's hands stilled in mid-air.

_A bluff, for our girlfriends' lives?_

"I know when Carlton Fog is lying, and he's not lying when he says that as far as he knows, he's the only Branch member besides Shears who knows the real painting survived and that it's a fake," Will explained before anyone could protect. "We tell Chambers that we have it on a reliable source – Carlton Fog – that the real painting wasn't destroyed, and we can give them the man who knows where it is."

Tyler's chest seized up with fear. "You mean my father."

"Do you have a better idea?" Will honestly appeared open to suggestions. When Tyler faltered, he went on, with such a pained expression the truth of his words couldn't be questioned, "Tyler, I don't want to hand your father over to these people any more than you do. I've known Carlton for six years now, and all bullshit aside, I like him. Besides, he's your father, and I wouldn't do this to you if I could think of another way to get Kim and Liz out."

Kate tentatively cleared her throat. "We could wait. We could try to piece together what Buchanan is plotting – "

"And by the time we do that," Tyler reflected, his voice sounding flat to his own ears, "Buchanan could already have unleashed some kind of plague on this country. And Kim and Liz could be dead or…worse.

"We can't take that chance," he decided. Much as it hurt, much as he wished he could find another way, Tyler's mind was made up. His tone made that clear. "We can't waste time trying to figure out how to rescue Kim and Liz when we already have a way. We need to get them out safely and then figure out how to stop the Fourth Branch from doing anymore damage than they already have."

A weighty silence fell upon them. Jay finally broke it by saying uncertainly, "He's your father, Tyler, so I guess it's your call."

Tyler didn't give himself a chance to reconsider. Turning to Will, he said simply, "Make the call."

**Part 4**

Will suspected that if Fred Chambers could have reached through the secure telephone line on which Will phoned him, the SAC would have strangled him without remorse. Chambers was, understandably, less than thrilled to discover that it was – as every Fourth Branch member had assumed upon hearing the nationally-covered news story – Will, Jay and Tyler behind Carlton Fog's "kidnapping." He was even less pleased to learn that Will had more to trade than just Fog (whom Will knew Chambers would have written off without a second thought), because the intel Will was offering trumped the importance of bringing in him or his two friends.

"This isn't my call," Chambers had tried protesting at first.

"Come off it," Will had snapped back. He was standing in the baking-hot sunshine outside city hall in a small Maryland town, talking on a payphone he knew Chambers would be able to trace if the call lasted much longer. "You either want what I've got or you don't."

Irritation had practically bled through the phone. "Fine," Chambers had replied, his voice so clipped he seemed to be biting off words. "Let's arrange a meet."

"Check your email. Fifteen minutes." Will had hung up before a trace could be completed.

Kate took care of the details for the meet – she was, Will noted, taking care of quite a lot of details lately. He was surprised by how much he trusted her. More than that: He was surprised by how much he _liked _her.

_Sure as hell didn't feel that way when we met in that hotel room, but I guess she had a cover to keep, same as me…_

While Kate arranged for Chambers and his men to bring their prisoners to an isolated airfield about an hour northwest of Boston later that night, Will showered and changed the bandages on his fast-healing bullet wound in the ramshackle cabin's spartan bathroom. Physically, he was much better off than he had been three days earlier: He had actually slept, eaten, and bathed, little things that made an amazing amount of difference in a person's health.

Emotionally, he thought he was in a better place than the night Freed's limousine exploded, too. He had lost it at Maya's grave, yet somehow, the breakdown had renewed his strength. It was as if allowing himself to experience the intensity of his grief had helped him not to move past it – he would never, he knew, totally get over losing Maya – but to live around the heartache more easily.

On the other side of the door, he could hear Carlton and Tyler talking quietly. Will had to admit, he was impressed by Tyler's fortitude. Three weeks ago, he would never have imagined that Tyler Fog could withstand the mental blows he had recently been dealt and still be standing firm; although he liked Tyler, Will had always thought him weak, pampered, soft. But there he was, making impossible decisions like choosing between his father and his girlfriend, between the safety of the country and the safety of his own family, without flinching.

Jay was also holding up remarkably well on his part, though Will wasn't surprised by that. The son of a Marine – of a First Recon Marine, at that – was no wimp. Of the two, Will had always known Jay would find a way through the mess he had been forced to leave his best friends in.

_And yet they've forgiven me, both of them. I don't understand how. It's like I never betrayed them to begin with._

Kate knocked on the bathroom door as Will was finishing off a much-needed shave. "Come in," he called, reaching for a towel to mop shaving cream spots off his chin.

She started inside but hesitated when she found him shirtless. "I can wait outside..."

"It's okay." Not for the first time, Will was struck by how uneasy Kate seemed to be around him at certain moments. Sometimes, like in the car that morning, she was completely relaxed; she had held his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. Other times, like right now, she was strangely tense and reserved.

He slipped his shirt on over his head, carelessly running his fingers through his damp hair to keep it off his forehead, and followed her through the bedroom where Carlton and Tyler were deep in conversation. In the kitchen, Kate's laptop computer sat open on the counter.

"Where's Jay?" he asked, looking around.

"On the sofa, napping." Kate nodded toward the living room. Faintly, Will could hear the rumble of Jay's snores, and he and Kate grinned at one another.

"So we're all set to meet tonight around midnight," she announced. "I just got confirmation from Chambers via email. He's bringing Kim and Liz, and he's agreed to your terms: No more than six men to accompany him, any snipers or helicopters and we bail. I've done all the research on the airfield that I can online, and it looks like the best place for the meet will be this old hangar here, pretty far off from the center of the place." Kate turned the screen so Will could see the plans she had hacked into for the small, regional airfield. "I'm supposed to call Chambers when we arrive and let him know the exact location of the meet, so we can set up there probably before he even figures out it exists."

"Excellent."

"Thanks." Her cheeks colored prettily.

"You should take a shower and relax a little," Will suggested, noting the dark circles under her ice-blue eyes. "We've had kind of a rough day."

Kate nodded agreeably. "Yeah, I think I will." But she hesitated, and Will could tell she had something on her mind – something she didn't seem comfortable saying outright.

He leaned one hip against the counter and considered her. Kaitlyn Westbrook, CIA operative. With her long, honey-colored tresses tucked under a ballcap (her preferred means of keeping her curtain of hair out of her way, it seemed), dressed boyishly in faded jeans and a long-sleeved St. Louis Cardinals tee-shirt, she looked younger than she probably was. She also looked very pretty, a fact that made Will slightly uncomfortable; he felt guilty thinking of any woman as attractive while Maya's remains were moldering in an unmarked grave.

"Something wrong?" he prompted at length, when Kate didn't appear to be any closer to speaking.

"It's just…I can't help thinking we could find another way." She cut her eyes toward the bedroom. The murmur of father-and-son voices continued unabated. "You know they'll torture Fog for information he doesn't even have. And Tyler knows that, too. It isn't fair that he should have to live with that."

Pride prickling at having his orders questioned, Will said rather testily, "Like I said before, Kate, if anybody has any other ideas…"

The color rose in her cheeks again, although this time, he suspected, from anger instead of pleasure. The blush only served to make her prettier.

"I'm not saying it's a bad plan, Will. I'm just wondering if it's really necessary to leave Carlton to the mercy of the Fourth Branch, when we know what the eventual outcome will be."

_Sweet Christ, and I thought I was cold-hearted…_

"You mean kill him. During the exchange."

Kate nodded. "I'm not happy about suggesting it, but if he's going to die anyway, wouldn't it be better to do it quickly, not weeks from now when they finally figure out he doesn't know anything?"

"And how do you suggest the rest of us get away clean if we double-cross Chambers on the deal?"

Scuffing her shoe along the floor, Kate confessed, "That's the part I can't work out. I just…I just…Ugh, I just hate this!"

She looked close to tears. Remembering how she had comforted him, Will reached for her; to his surprise, she stepped away and held out a hand to warn him off.

He stood there awkwardly, arms hanging loosely at his sides, half-amused and half-disturbed by how deeply her rejection stung.

"Kate," he offered helplessly, feeling foolishly. "I…"

"Just don't, okay? I'm going to go take a shower." Her voice was choked with unshed tears. "I'm sorry I brought it up. Forget I mentioned it. I know you're doing the best you can."

She walked away before he could argue.

Just under two hours later, though, when the five of them piled into the Ford Explorer and struck out for Boston, Kate seemed back to normal. She treated Will with the same easy affability she showed to Jay and Tyler; whatever anger or revulsion she had felt toward him earlier had, he decided, either vanished or been driven underground for the sake of the mission.

None of them spoke much during the long drive. Jay was at the wheel again, Kate riding shotgun beside him. Will and Tyler sat on either side of a stony-faced Carlton in the backseat. Carlton had refused more morphine before leaving the cabin, insisting that he wanted to be on his toes for the exchange. Having recently had a much less severe gunshot wound in his own body, Will knew his former patron had to be suffering immensely.

He tried not to think too hard about what other kinds of suffering lay in Carlton's near future. As he had told Tyler and Kate both, Will did not dislike Carlton Fog; on the contrary, he respected the man on many fronts and frankly enjoyed talking with him. Carlton had acted as a father to Will when he had no reason to, when he could have been a mere business associate. Tossing that aside did not come easily to Will, yet his time with Hometown had taught him to recognize when sacrifice was necessary.

_I couldn't sacrifice Maya or Jay or Tyler, though, could I? When it comes right down to it, will I be able to sacrifice Carlton?_

Kate's words rang in Will's ears: _"If he's going to die anyway, wouldn't it be better to do it quickly?"_

Well, maybe the opportunity would present itself before the exchange was over. Will was fairly certain that Chambers would not walk away from his best shot of bringing three high-profile fugitives in without a fight; no matter how badly the Fourth Branch wanted Carlton Fog and the information they falsely believed him to possess, Chambers would want his fifteen minutes of fame for taking down the Drexler bombers. A double-cross seemed certain. Nevertheless, if they wanted Kim and Liz back, Will resigned himself to the fact that they would just have to attend the meeting and roll with the punches.

The airfield Kate had selected turned out to be an ideal meeting place, especially from their vantage point: It was remote – at least fifty miles from any major metropolis – and surrounded by open fields, putting an ambush out of the realm of possibility. The hangar she had shown Will was the best of the available exchange points as well. Separated from the rest of the field by two miles, no one could approach it on any side – including from the air – without being visible for a long, long way.

"This is fantastic," Will told her again as they clambered out of the vehicle, stretching stiff and weary limbs. She smiled at him in her usual shy-but-pleased way, and he wondered again why she had turned away from him so abruptly at the cabin. Such coldness toward him, at least since she had revealed her true identity, had been totally out-of-character for her. In fact, most of the time Will sensed that Kate wanted to be near him, that she sought out his company and his closeness because they were two of a kind.

_Women – the world's biggest mystery. You're probably not going to solve it tonight, so focus._

While Will distributed loaded handguns to Jay and Tyler and checked that his own weapons were ready, particularly the knife he kept strapped to his ankle for close-combat situations, Kate called Chambers to relay their final destination. Carlton sat stiffly in the Explorer, refusing to look anyone in the eye, including Tyler, who was pale and trembling.

"You okay?" Will asked his friend quietly, coming to stand beside Tyler and Jay near the hangar's main entrance. From there, they would be able to watch Chambers' motorcade approach. He could sense how desperate his friends were for a glimpse of the women they loved.

"Do you think this will really work?" Tyler asked, his throat constricting on the last word. He coughed to clear the lump and spoke around unshed tears. "I'm not killing my father for nothing, am I?"

"I wouldn't be letting you do this if I thought it wouldn't work," Will tabled, his voice conveying more confidence than he felt. Like a good commander, he switched his soldiers' focus from their battle-fear to the task ahead, saying crisply, "When Chambers and his men get here, it's going to be a touch-and-go situation. Anybody makes a wrong move, we may end up in the middle of a fire-fight. Jay, I'm gonna need you to back me up if that happens. Tyler, I'll need you to get Kim and Liz out of here, all right?"

Jay looked pleased to be singled out as Will's second-in-command, and the sneaking suspicion that his friend was somewhat jealous of Kate's easy entry into their group was confirmed for Will. "You got it," Jay agreed readily.

White as a sheet and sweating, Tyler nodded mutely. Will squeezed his friend's shoulder reassuringly. "You can do this, Tyler," he insisted. "You've turned out to be the toughest one of us all."

His words had the desired effect: A hint of a smile and a ghost of color returned to Tyler's face. Before he could respond, however, headlights appeared out of the darkness. Behind them, Kate announced, "They're coming."

The four fugitives fanned out in front of the Explorer as two black sedans quietly approached down a deserted runway. Carlton eased off of the seat and came to stand beside Will, who flatly admired his captive's fearlessness.

"I'm sorry about this, Carlton," he offered, too quietly for the others to hear.

"Don't be. You saved my son's life. No matter what happens to me," Carlton turned and looked Will directly in the eye for a brief moment before returning his gaze to the encroaching enemy, "I'm thankful that he has you to look out for him."

Those words meant more to Will than Carlton could imagine, not least because he suspected they were true. For nearly six years, Will had known Carlton Fog, and he understood perhaps better than Tyler ever would how deep the father's love for his son ran.

He hardly had time for reflection, though, because the sedans had parked side-by-side just inside the hangar. Will slipped his pistol from its holster and, at the far edge of their group, saw Kate do the same. Tyler and Jay had eyes only for the two beautiful young women being helped out of either side of the same sedan by two suit-clad FBI agents.

Thus far, Chambers had held exactly to Will's plan. He and his driver climbed out of the front seat of the sedan that had chauffered Kim and Liz; another two agents, bringing Chambers up only to his allowable six, stepped out of the other sedan.

But when Will saw who the sixth agent was, he knew they were in for trouble.

Her name was Olivia Dawes – Vi, he had called her. Tucker, that was what she had called Will, because his alias had been Ezra Tucker when they were in training together. And that was where they had met, six years ago now, when they were both new recruits for Hometown…

It had been natural, Will supposed, that the two of them would become friends. They had both been young, barely twenty, yet neither was a green kid: Each had been on their own since well before eighteen, Vi when, as she had told Will, she finally had enough of her step-father's advances and ran away from home and Will when his drunken father finally disappeared for good one summer night, never to be heard from again.

Once he had graduated high school, Will – whose name was not "Will" then – had cleared out of his backwoods Illinois town with nothing other than a beat-up, hand-me-down motorcycle, a dog-eared copy of _On the Road, _and a few changes of clothes in an old green satchel. He had struck out to see the country, to explore those hidden places his friend McCullough (dead by that time for more than a year, from cirrhosis) had told him so much about. For three years, he had traveled, putting gas in the bike and food in his stomach by working odd jobs which tended, thanks to Will's youth and arrogance, to be physically grueling and dangerous: coal mining in West Virginia, off-shore drilling in the Gulf, guiding rock-climbing tours in the Southwest, smoke-jumping into forest fires in Wyoming and Colorado.

It was the last job that had caught his fancy, a job that seemed assured to lead him to an early grave with the added benefit of providing a ready-made family of like-minded adrenaline junkies. Will had loved that for four months out of the year, people who lived normal lives the other eight months – doctors, bankers, school teachers, used car dealers, fashion designers, soccer moms – leapt out of helicopters into the midst of forest fires with nary more than their own wits and grit to keep them alive. He could have stayed in that life forever, he supposed, if a few disturbed souls hadn't seen fit to fly planes into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon and a field in rural Pennsylvania, effectively turning the world upside-down in three hours' time.

Will had been a month past twenty when the Towers fell. Young, idealistic, wildly patriotic like the rest of the country in the weeks that followed, he had sought out a Marine recruiter in the rural Wyoming town where the smoke-jumpers he was stationed with were packing up and heading home following another thrilling season. A season, it turned out, that would be Will's first and last.

He had been primed to join the Marines when Jack Freed turned up on his doorstep. The Deputy Director of the FBI asking a no-name kid from nowhere to forego being a Marine in order to be something much more important: a spy. Will had signed on the dotted line without even reading the contract. Weeks later, when he had met Vi, she had told a very similar story of wanting to serve her country and finding herself over-awed by the prospect of being recruited – actually _recruited _– into a top-secret FBI program.

A tall, slender, strikingly-beautiful woman Will had only ever known as Alex had handled the majority of Vi and Will's training. Per Freed's instructions, Hometown agents did not network with one another; they were trained in pairs by a handler who was also an agent, albeit a much more experienced one. In Alex's case, her experience was with the CIA. She was partnered with a man named Tyrese Franklin, a member of the elite First Recon unit, who planned Will and Vi's training. But Franklin was unimportant, uninvolved. Alex was their drill sergeant, their mother, their punisher, their general.

For six months, she had pushed Will and Vi to their limits. They trained in everything from underwater assault to aerial rescue to emergency surgery to parachuting to kung fu. As the six-month training period drew to a close, they were also trained in withstanding interrogation, something Will, whose father had been an almost unbelievably cruel man, was better prepared for than Olivia.

He woke one night following a particularly brutal day to hear quiet crying in the room next door. Their training had been conducted in a large, out-of-the-way farmhouse near the Outerbanks; it had everything they needed, including obstacle courses and a weapons range. When he wasn't being subjected to electric shocks and frigid hose-downs as he had been that day, Will almost thought of the place as home.

Slipping a ratty tee-shirt on over his boxers, Will crawled out of bed – every muscle, every inch of skin was torn and bruised, or so he felt – and limped into the hallway. A pale light shone under Vi's door. He could hear her sobs clearly, and they made his own eyes sting with unshed tears: Short, petite, and blonde, Vi was so delicate-looking it was hard for Will not to want to protect her, the way he would have a kid sister.

He pushed open the door without knocking, intending to slip in without Alex knowing (fraternization after-hours was strictly forbidden) and comfort Vi until she fell asleep. To his shock, he walked right in on the middle of what Alex would later tell him was her first-ever kiss with Olivia.

Will must have made some noise of astonishment or protest, because Vi sprung away from Alex, who was on her feet in an instant. Will stumbled back into the doorframe, heart pounding in his throat.

What had he just witnessed: Vi being taken advantage of, or Vi falling in love?

"Oh my God." Vi buried her heart-shaped face in her pillow, sobs shaking her thin shoulders. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God."

"It's okay." Always remarkably self-possessed, Alex placed a gentle hand in the center of Vi's back and patted her soothingly. Her eyes, however, were fastened on Will's: He found that he couldn't look away, couldn't force his feet to carry him out of the room, while she stared him down.

"Vi, it's okay," he finally managed to say. The young woman's sobs faltered as she turned her tear-streaked face to look at him. "I just…uh, I heard you crying and I thought, what with today and all, maybe you were…"

"Not to be the pot calling the kettle black," Alex broke in lightly, a strange half-smile playing on her lips, "but is there something going on between the two of you that I should know about?"

"No," Vi and Will said together.

Alex looked from one to the other, considering them. Will wasn't sure why he felt so jittery. He had been in far more dangerous situations than this in his life, that was certain. Perhaps it was the embarrassment, or the unexpectedness of it, or the simple fact that Alex basically held the power of life and death over them until they finished their training. Neither he nor Vi had lost any time in figuring out that one either qualified for Hometown or got dropped off a bridge somewhere with a pair of cement shoes as a going-away present.

"Okay," Alex said after a long moment. Will released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. "Vi, baby-doll, you shut your eyes and see if you can rest while your partner and I go have a talk, okay?"

Vi nodded. Will followed Alex into the hall, glancing back hastily over his shoulder to mouth, _Are you okay?_

His partner met his gaze, and Will saw something there he had never seen before: desperate, hopeless, all-consuming love. _Fantastic, _she mouthed back, cheeks flaming scarlet. Recalling the passion of the kiss he had just interrupted, Will blushed, too.

The moment they entered the hallway and Vi's door fell shut behind them, though, Alex seized Will by the front of his tee-shirt and shoved him roughly against the wall. Expecting a blow, he was too stunned to react when her lips met his in a bruising, almost punishing kiss.

"What the…?" Recovering his equilibrium, Will jerked his mouth away from Alex's. Things were happening too fast for him to process; he merely gaped at her.

"What's the matter, baby, feeling left out?" Alex snarled in his ear, careful to keep her voice low. Her fingernails dug into his chest. She was angrier than Will had ever seen her. "Get lonely over there all by yourself and decide to come crawl into bed with your partner?"

"Hey," Will protested in a hiss, his own temper rising as he grasped her wrists and shoved her hands away, "I'm not the one who was groping my trainee – make that _both _of your trainees. So get off the high horse, Alex. I was going over there to be sure she was okay, not to screw her."

Alex glared at him, but she looked less prepared to slash his throat. Adjusting his shirt where she had wadded it up under his arms, Will continued hotly, pitching his voice too low for Vi to overhear, "Besides, you know what a pervert her step-father was. I'm not surprised she doesn't like men after that. I would never do anything to hurt Vi, Alex, and you know it."

"But you think I would?" Alex shot back tartly.

"Well, you know, you do occasionally hook us up to machines and shock the piss out of us, all in the name of God and country," Will couldn't stop himself from pointing out.

A strained silence fell between them. Then, inexplicably, Alex snickered. The tension broke: Will felt laughter, a giddy sort of laughter born of sudden fear and high emotions and months of physical and mental torment, bubble up inside of him as well. He looked away, knowing if he met her gaze the laughter would spill over, and the last thing he needed was to descend into hysteria.

Still, it was nice to hear Alex laugh.

Once she recovered her composure, Alex reached out and touched the back of her hand tenderly to Will's cheek, where a bruise from earlier that day was blooming below his eye. "I'm sorry things are hard sometimes," she blurted out. "What we're doing is worth it, though. You have to believe that."

"I do believe that."

And he did. Even fear of death could not have made Will stick out the grueling months of preparation to be a Hometown agent if he did not believe as sincerely as he had when Freed first approached him that America needed protecting.

"You're the strong one," Alex commented, her fingertips resting lightly on Will's shoulder. "Vi isn't strong, not like you. Not like me, even."

"Do you think getting involved with her is a good idea?" Will put the question bluntly, not knowing how else to ask it. "I mean, for one thing, I get the impression that we have a don't-ask, don't-tell policy at work here. And, you know, she is your trainee.."

"We can't help who we fall in love with," Alex shrugged. "Between the two of you, with my tendencies, it's honestly been a toss-up who was going to run off with my heart first."

Will returned her grin, though he suspected, given the hungry way she had kissed him, that Alex was only half-joking. "Whatever you two want, I hope it works out," he offered, extending the metaphoric olive branch. "I won't say anything, not to anyone."

"You're a good friend." Alex planted a platonic kiss on Will's cheek before stepping back and, with a sultry smile, reaching for Vi's doorknob. "Now, go back to bed and put your pillow over your ears, mmm?"

Will watched Alex slip back into the room, heard Vi's happy murmur as the bed springs creaked, and allowed himself to hope that the two of them might actually get their happy ending…

Facing down Vi now, Will had the benefit of six years' hard-won experience to help him put her situation in perspective: She had graduated from training, just as he had, and had been tasked to assignments unknown; they had not spoken, had not seen one another since they hugged good-bye in Alex's kitchen, but he had heard – from Alex, whom he had stayed in albeit infrequent contact with over the years – that their relationship had continued despite the long separations and deep-cover missions.

Since Will had shot Alex and left her for dead, he knew only too well what Vi wanted to do to him. He didn't blame her: He just hated it that his friends were caught in the cross-fire.

Chambers was stepping forward while buttoning his suit jacket, glowering at each of the fugitives and Carlton Fog in turn. "What a sundry band of outlaws you have here, Mr. Traveler," Chambers observed sarcastically, turning his nose up at Will. "The son of a traitor, the son of a greedy bastard, and a turn-coat CIA operative. You must be so proud."

"Much as I'd love to trade insults with you, Fred," Will retorted, keeping a wary eye on Vi, "let's just get this over with, shall we?"

Jay was craning his neck to get a better look at Kim. Chambers motioned for his men to bring the girls forward; a cursory glance told Will that neither of them had been hurt. In fact, Kim looked ready to spit nails she was so furious, and Liz's expression was a close match.

_Chambers has no idea what he's messing with. I wouldn't threaten those two…_

"Time to go," Will murmured to Carlton, grasping his captive's elbow. Carlton shuffled forward, the picture of docility.

Chambers' men and Will stopped five feet from one another. "Here's how this is gonna work," Will announced to the room, his voice strong and authoritative. "On the count of three, I'll release Carlton, and you'll release Kim and Liz. Everybody stands real still until we're on opposite sides of the room. Then all of you," he swept his gun-free hand toward Chambers' agents, "will get back in your cars and drive away, and we'll get in our car and drive away. End of story."

"Not so fast, Tucker."

_Goddamn you, Olivia…_

Will pulled a cold, detached expression into place as he turned toward Vi.

She advanced on him slowly, cattily. "Guess you're not 'Tucker' anymore, are you? It's 'Will' now, right?" she purred. Her eyes burned with a cold fury.

"Did you hear that I got to play your dead girlfriend for a while? I suppose that meant you had to go dig her up before you came here, be sure she was dead. Bet that was a pretty sight."

Kim made a strangled-sounding noise. Will shot her a shut-up-and-don't-move look that held her in place better than the agent gripping her arm. The last thing they needed was the infamous Doherty temper exploding onto the situation.

"Good to see you, too, Vi," Will said back, his voice as even as hers. "How's Alex?"

That was all it took – just the mention of her lover, and Vi lost it, as he had known she would. In the blink of an eye, Vi had a knife in her hand and was running pell-mell at Will.

"Jay!" Will shouted, wanting to remind his friend of his promise to be a back-up shooter if all hell broke loose. He could hear guns being drawn but had no time to see if his friends were preparing to fight back before Vi was upon him.

He seized the wrist of her knife-arm and jerked it upward so she couldn't stab him, at the same time pulling her forward and twisting her around so that her back was forced against his chest. He felt a tell-tale sting across his ribs where the knife had slit the skin, but he knew it hadn't gotten deep enough to do any real damage.

She howled with impotent fury, twisting in Will's vice-like grip. He had forgotten until that instant how small Vi was; he had forgotten until he saw her again, actually, how much she did look like Maya. Memories of their friendship, forged in horrific conditions, combined with that resemblance made the idea of killing his old partner even more painful for Will.

_My responsibility is to Jay and Tyler and Kim and Liz – I have to get them out of this, I got them into it…_

Buoyed by his sense of duty, Will held firm while Vi bucked against him. He could have held her like that until the fight went out of her – or at least until she was forced to surrender – except gunshots rang out around them. Afraid they would be blown apart from behind, Will swept her feet out from under her and fell on top of her, pinning her knife-hand to the ground above her.

Vi hadn't lost a step since training. Deftly, she rammed her elbow into his midsection, causing Will's breath to leave his lungs in an eye-watering rush. While he was momentarily incapacitated, she managed to plant one palm underneath her and push off hard enough from the ground to flip him over.

Dragging air back into his painfully-deflated lungs, Will fought to keep hold of Vi's wrist. He squeezed as tightly as he could and heard her cry out as a ligament snapped; the hand holding the knife went limp, the blade clattering away from them. Undaunted, she lifted her other hand to claw at his eyes, swiping out a chunk of his cheek with her fingernails. He only just managed to force her hands away before she blinded him.

The fight was fast and brutal, though it seemed to take place in slow-motion for Will. Several times Vi struggled away from him, seeking her knife, while around them the noise of the gun-battle continued. Desperate to help his friends, Will finally realized he would not have the opportunity to reason with Vi, to explain to her that he had not wanted to hurt Alex.

_"Don't make me do this," _he had pleaded, his finger on the trigger.

But Alex had made him. And now, Vi was going to make him hurt her as well.

"You son of a bitch! You tortured her!" Vi was fighting for everything she was worth, fists and teeth and fingernails coming at Will in a dizzying volley. Yet he was the stronger one, Alex had told him that. Deep down, he knew Vi recognized that, too.

Aiming a vicious punch at Vi's nose, Will landed the blow with enough force to temporarily stay her attack. He seized the opportunity to pull his own knife from its ankle holster; he knew she saw his movement, knew she understood what it meant, yet instead of retreating, she jumped to her feet and made to stomp on his chest.

Will grabbed her foot, flipped her over backwards, and, in one fluid movement, rolled on top of her and buried the knife to its hilt in her sternum.

_Goddamn Jack Freed and the Fourth Branch for making me do this…_

Blood gurgled in Vi's throat. Will balanced on one elbow so he could look down into her eyes, where her life-light was rapidly fading. He had intended a quick kill and was glad he had succeeded.

Leaning down so she could hear him over the gunshots that were still ringing out, Will told her softly, "I didn't want to hurt Alex, Olivia, and I didn't want to hurt you. I hope she's all right. If she's not, you'll be with her soon."

She clutched at him, still wanting to hurt him. Will knocked her hand away and stood up, closing down the part of himself that would have mourned the friend of his youth.

Olivia Dawes had made her choice. Will had made his. They were no longer on the same side, and that was that.

Although it seemed to have lasted forever, Will's scramble with Vi had actually ended in less than three minutes. In that time, Kim had broken away from the agent and holding her and had made it to the Explorer, where Tyler had shoved her into the backseat. He was hunkered down by the back tire firing at Chambers and the two agents left standing. Judging from the positions of the other two bodies and Kate's position behind a toppled crate, Will suspected that she and not Jay, who was reloading on the other side of the Explorer from Tyler, had taken them out.

But Jay was providing excellent covering fire. As he sized up his team's positions, Will noted that he had lost sight of Carlton, though that was the least of his concerns at the moment: He needed to get to Liz, who was pinned to the ground underneath an agent with a .9-millimeter handgun, so they could get the hell out of there before back-up arrived.

"Cover me," Will called to Kate, who met his eyes with a steely gaze and nodded once to show she understood.

_This is for Maya, you sons of bitches._

Will leapt into the battle with a rage the poets of old would have admired. The first agent he came to went down under a battery of short, brutal upper-cuts to the jaw and head; the second agent, the one holding Liz, tried to bring his gun around on Will, who attacked from the side, but he was too late. Jerking the gun from the man's hand, Will used it to crack his skull. Blood and brains spattered the concrete.

Liz held up her arms to Will. At that moment, Chambers came rushing at them, firing. Will would never know how he managed to evade the bullets – sheer dumb luck or destiny were the only explanations, because Chambers had them dead to rights. As it was, he managed to fall on top of Liz, shielding her body with his, as the bullets kicked up sparks on the concrete around them.

"NO!"

Will heard Tyler's roar but couldn't risk exposing Liz to roll over and see what was happening. Jay would tell him later that Tyler, seeing Liz about to be shot in the face, had stepped out from behind the Explorer and yelled to attract Chambers' attention. The ploy had worked, only too well: Chambers had pivoted on the spot and squeezed off a round that would have landed squarely between Tyler's eyes.

Would have. Except Carlton Fog, who had been crouched out of sight by the Explorer's back door, saw what was happening and, very simply, stood up to block the bullet's path.

Otis Whaley's bullet should have killed Carlton, Will knew that. Whaley was a highly-trained operative who did not, as a rule, miss once he took aim. Sadly, fate could only be escaped so many times: Fred Chambers' bullet slammed into Carlton's throat, piercing his trachea and leaving him to drown in his own blood.

Of all of them – Liz, Kim, Jay, Tyler and Will – only Kate retained the presence of mind to keep fighting as Carlton fell. She jumped to her feet and fired once at Chambers, who was also watching Carlton sink to the ground. Her shot was not a kill-shot, though Will was certain she had intended it to be, for Chambers side-stepped at the last possible second, taking the bullet in his shoulder instead of full in the chest.

Nevertheless, he hit the ground, and his gun spun out of reach.

In the instant of deafening silence that followed Carlton's collapse, Liz screamed, a keening, grief-laden scream that made the hair on Will's neck stand up. Reaching down, he literally scooped her up and made for the Explorer.

"Dad!" Tyler was running to his father, who was in his death throes on the blood-soaked floor.

"Take her." Will shoved Liz into Jay's arms. Kate was sliding behind the wheel, keys in hand, as Jay piled into the backseat with the other girls.

Kneeling beside Tyler, Will could hear sirens approaching in the distance. "Tyler, we have to go," he said softly, looking down into Carlton's pallid face. The older man's eyes were open but unseeing.

Tears streaming down his cheeks and shoulders shaking with sobs, Tyler begged, "We can't leave him, Will, we can't just leave him – "

"We have to, Tyler. He'll be buried. Your family will see to it that he's buried."

Will slipped his arm around Tyler's waist and half-pulled, half-assisted his friend to his feet. Tyler leaned heavily on him as they crossed to the Explorer. Kate popped open the passenger's side door so Will could push Tyler inside, where he closed his eyes and hugged his arms tightly to his chest as if trying to hold himself together.

_The things we do for the people we love._

Will did not normally allow himself to look back, but he did just this once: He looked back at the bloody pool surrounding a young girl he had once considered good as a sister, then at the pale corpse of his best friend's father. As he gazed at them, Will told himself to be thankful for the people he still had – to hold onto them with every ounce of his strength and never, ever let go. With that thought to sustain him, he jumped into the backseat, slammed the door, and ordered Kate to drive away into the night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Episode 7:**

"**Safety"**

**Part 1**

Kate drove.

The mood inside the vehicle was grim. As the airfield disappeared behind them, Liz pulled Tyler into the backseat; Will shifted up front beside Kate to make room. For a long while, as Kate wound around back roads with nothing other than her own sense of direction to keep them from becoming irrevocably lost in rural Massachusetts, the only sounds in the car were Tyler's anguished sobs and Liz and Kim's murmurs of comfort.

The girls had placed Tyler between them. He rested his head on Liz's shoulder while gripping Kim's hand. On the other side of Kim, Jay stared out the window, silent tears rolling down his cheeks as he relived, Kate was certain, the loss of his own father.

_This is like a nightmare that just keeps on getting worse._

Beside her, Will was eerily silent. She knew he was hurt; she didn't know how badly. Blood had soaked through the front of his torn shirt and he had fingernail-shaped gouges in his right cheek, just below his eye, which was beginning to swell and bruise. When she quietly asked him if they needed to pull over, he simply shook his head and continued gazing sightlessly out the windshield at the dark, twisting country highway.

Kate drove with a purpose, heading into the summer-green hills of Pennsylvania as night gave way to dawn. She was in charge for the moment, that much was understood – she had been in charge since Carlton Fog took a bullet for his son, and she would stay in charge until Will recovered himself enough to be their leader once more. She knew that, had she not been there, Will would have been stoic; he would have shut down whatever he was feeling in order to get them to safety. She was glad to be able to step up for a while so he could step down.

They needed to get away from Boston and New York and Baltimore and the other cities where the Fourth Branch would be searching for them, based on their recent pattern of behavior. They needed a place to recuperate, to get their feet back under them: A place for Tyler to mourn, for Liz to comfort him, for Kim and Jay to celebrate their reunion, for Kate to treat Will's wounds. And Kate knew just the place. She had held it in reserve for ten years, held it against the day she hoped would never come – the day she would have to disappear.

Kensington, her boss at the CIA, had never pretended that acting as a double-agent within the Fourth Branch would be anything but dangerous. He had never soft-footed the possibility that spying on Freed could cost Kate her life. She had accepted the peril when she accepted the mission, but that did not mean that she had not left herself escape routes known to no other living soul.

Just because she was willing to sacrifice herself didn't mean she wanted to if it could be avoided.

Everyone but she and Will had fallen sound asleep by the time Kate turned off the highway and headed down a dirt lane surrounded by dense trees. Will stirred; though he had been awake, she knew he had been miles away.

He ran a distracted hand through his hair. "Where are we?"

"Pennsylvania. I have a safehouse here."

"CIA?" He looked doubtful.

"Nope. Affiliated with no entity besides Kaitlyn Westbrook." She offered him a wan smile that he managed to return for a full second. Kate wished she could comfort him, but she didn't have the words.

_Besides, after our little spat back at the cabin, he would probably push me away, just like I did him…_

The lane ended in front of an ancient Eastern Hemlock tree. Kate killed the engine and climbed out, stretching. If she didn't ride in a car again for a week, it would be too soon – she was sick of being on the road. She wanted a hot shower and a soft bed.

Will stepped out and moved around to the front of the vehicle with her, gazing up at the tree. She thought she saw the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he quipped, "Tell me we're not looking at a tree-house, Kate."

She couldn't suppress a laugh, although it felt wrong to be happy with so much sadness surrounding them. "That would be cool," she rejoined, "but no, this is just how we get into the safehouse."

Walking over to the tree, she grabbed what appeared to be a particularly knotty root and jerked. With a creak of rusted hinges, a trapdoor opened to reveal a long, dark tunnel several feet below ground.

"This comes out in the basement of a very lovely little cottage nestled away quietly in the Pennsylvania woods," Kate informed Will, parodying a hard-selling real estate agent. He grinned for real at that. More seriously, she went on, "The house is big enough for all of us to be comfortable. I've never told anyone that I own it."

Will nodded to show that he understood. Kate supposed he was familiar enough with the idea: Disappearing permanently took time to organize, so any operative worth her salt would have a safe haven from which to coordinate the logistics of abandoning one life for another. He also seemed to accept that if she said the place was secret, it was secret. Kate experienced another wave of schoolgirl excitement over the trust Will placed in her.

_Once again, Kaitlyn: Now is not the time._

The others trudged along half-asleep and grief-weary behind Kate, who took the lead through the cool, earthen-walled tunnel, Will a few paces behind her. The passage ran for close to three-quarters of a mile before ending abruptly at what appeared to be a solid, immovable wall. With Will holding the flashlight for her, Kate brushed a thick layer of dirt off a keypad positioned at chest-height in the center of the wall and punched in a code long-memorized.

For a terrible moment, she thought perhaps years of dampness might have shorted out the circuitry despite all of her precautions. Then the keypad suddenly flashed green and the wall swung inward.

Kate's "cottage" was actually a three-bedroom, two-bath brick home with a finished basement and an attached two-car garage – a very comfortable place to hide out, certainly. Unfortunately, since she hadn't set foot in it for ten years, it was in desperate need of cleaning. She felt badly about the state of the place until she realized that her companions were all eager for something to do.

Kim tackled the kitchen, promising to pull something together from Kate's non-perishable-item-stocked pantry for lunch as soon as the stove and countertops were sanitary. Liz started removing drop-cloths from the furniture and hardwood floors; Jay volunteered to do the bathrooms; Tyler, eyes red and swollen but tears under control for the moment, found a bottle of bug spray in the garage and began exterminating the various insects that had taken up residence in the absence of human inhabitants.

Kate led Will straight upstairs to the far bedroom. He sat on the bare mattress and removed his shirt while she assembled medical supplies from her backpack on the armoire.

"Sorry these aren't exactly sterile conditions," Kate apologized, eyeing the knife-wound across the right side of his chest. The cut was long, running diagonally from just above his left hipbone over his ribcage to his sternum. She surmised that the girl – Vi, Will had called her, she wondered if that was short for "Violet" – had intended to plunge her blade into Will's side before yanking upward, slitting him open like a fish. The idea made her insides squirm; she said a silent prayer of thanks to whatever gods were listening that Will had been more than a match for his attacker.

_That's twice in one day I almost saw him killed, though. Not easy on my heart._

"It's not deep," Will assured her. He looked down at the wound, which was crusted with dried blood and still oozing in spots, with a kind of morbid interest. "You don't need to go to any trouble. She just nicked me."

Kate snorted. "Yeah, what a tiny little scratch. Let's not even clean it," she said sarcastically. Before he could protest, she seized him by the shoulders and pushed him back onto the bed. "Lie still. This will probably sting."

She sat on the edge of the bed to clean the wound. Will laced his fingers behind his head and stared at the ceiling; if she was hurting him, he didn't show it.

"Your gunshot wound is healing nicely," Kate noted. The knife-wound was not deep enough for stitches, so she was closing it with butterfly strips – a long process given how far the gash extended. "You'll have a scar, though. From this, too," she added, meaning the wound she was currently tending.

"It's been a rough couple of weeks," Will observed wryly. "I wouldn't mind not getting shot or stabbed or punched for a while."

"That sounds like an excellent plan to me." Kate smiled back at him as she turned her attention to the deep gouges below his eye. Anger flared inside of her: Around the iris, his right-eye was bloodshot, the tender skin underneath the eye puffy and blue-black around the places where his flesh had been ripped off the bone. Not a serious injury, thank God, but a painful one.

"Good Lord, what was she trying to do, tear out your eyeball?" Kate heard the indignant rage in her voice and blushed a little, wishing she could keep a tighter lid on her emotions around Will.

He half-laughed. "I think that was the general idea, yes."

Kate didn't respond, because what she wanted to say was not very nice considering the girl it concerned was dead. Perhaps reading her thoughts, Will gazed up at her thoughtfully as Kate, armed with a peroxide-soaked cotton ball, began to dab at the gouges.

"You don't have to clean me up, you know. You drove all night – you need to rest." He slipped one hand out from underneath his head and reached up to push a strand of hair back behind her ear. Kate's heart and hands stilled at his touch. "You look tired, Kaitlyn."

_Kaitlyn._

She started at the use of her real name: She had been Kate for so long, she had forgotten what it was like to be called by her given name.

Misinterpreting her reaction, Will quickly dropped his hand back to his side. "Sorry, I didn't mean…"

_Oh Will, you have no idea how much I want you to touch me…_

Heart hammering so loudly she was certain he could hear it, Kate said hastily, "No, it's not – it's just – I'm not used to being called Kaitlyn."

She returned to the care of his wounds to keep her hands (and her wandering thoughts) busy. "We go by these aliases for so long, they might as well be our real names. Don't you feel like that? I mean, I can't imagine calling you anything but 'Will,' even if I knew what your name was."

The words popped out without her really thinking about them: She was trying to lighten the atmosphere in the room, to stop herself from wishing Will would slide his fingers into her hair and pull her mouth down to his – he looked so damn sexy and vulnerable stretched out half-naked on the bed. Even forcibly reminding herself that not only was he in mourning for the woman he loved but that he was also recovering from a couple of fairly serious wounds could not hold the fantasy entirely in check.

Once she had spoken, however, a charged silence stretched like a wire between them. She had as good as asked him for his real name without even meaning to. What was worse, Kate knew he wasn't going to tell her; she could feel a hot blush building from the stinging humiliation of realizing just how little Will – or whatever his name was – actually trusted her.

_He wants Maya. You're a good agent and he's using you to get his friends out of this mess alive, but he doesn't think of you like you think of him. If you ever needed proof, here it is…_

Furious with herself for creating such an awkward situation, Kate rushed to say, "I didn't mean that the way it came out, Will. I'm not trying to pry. I'm just…tired, tired and not thinking straight."

She turned away to dig in her medical bag, hoping her blush would fade before she had to turn back. "I think I'll just tape some gauze over those places – I'm really not sure what else to do with them, they're going to be very sore and I hope your eye doesn't get infected – "

"Kate?"

Will was sitting up when she forced herself to look at him. He motioned for her to return to the bed; she did, sitting down with the feeling that a boulder had formed in the pit of her stomach. His expression was unreadable. She hated not knowing what he was thinking. When she had watched him on surveillance, she'd often seen him at unguarded moments, making it easy for her to gather what was going on behind those cerulean eyes.

"I'll make you a deal. You answer a question for me, and I'll answer the one you didn't mean to ask."

Kate couldn't have been more surprised if Will had announced his plans to run away with the circus. Knocked off-balance, she stammered, "O-okay, I guess…What do you want to know?"

"You probably don't even know you do this, but sometimes – like when we disagreed about what to do with Carlton yesterday – you act sort of…weird toward me. Like you can't stand to be around me.

"Now, this isn't an ego thing," he pointed out, seemingly determined that she not misunderstand what he was asking. "I'm sure, after witnessing all of the things I've done over the past couple of years, you've got reasons not to like me. But we're pretty much working as partners now, and I figured out a long while ago that partners don't keep each other alive if there's trouble between them. So, I guess what I want to know is: What is it about me that makes you so uncomfortable?"

That was it? That was the question he wanted answered in exchange for telling her his real name?

Agent instincts kicking in, Kate tried to sort out Will's endgame in this exchange. On the one hand, perhaps he still had doubts about her loyalty. She thought that unlikely, though, given how much responsibility he had placed on her shoulders. On the other hand, the more unsettling possibility was that he suspected what was not quite right between them was that she was falling in love with him. And, more than likely, he did not want that to happen anymore than she did.

_Or maybe his real name isn't actually that big of a secret to him, so it isn't much to trade just to satisfy his curiosity._

Aware that Will was watching her closely as she wrestled with her response, Kate decided to accept his gambit. The chance to find out more about Will was one she couldn't pass up.

Still, like a good operative, she didn't want to reveal too much in her answer. So she chose her words carefully.

"You must feel like you don't know me at all, like we only really met one another a few days ago," she began, holding his gaze. Will nodded, indicating that she should continue. "But I've watched you for two years, Will. I've seen you everyday. Heard your voice everyday. You have been my mission, seven days a week, for twenty-four months now. I feel like I know you better than I've ever known anyone. It's like…It's like I've been sitting in the room with you all along, watching and listening and studying you, but I've been invisible to you.

"And now," she concluded, her voice shaking a bit as she tried not to give away her truest emotions, "I'm not invisible to you anymore. And sometimes, like yesterday morning, it scares me how much I want you to see me. To know me."

The expression on Will's face told her plainly that her response was the last thing he had expected. Kate couldn't help congratulating herself for being much better at veiling her feelings than she had given herself credit for – although now, of course, the cat was out of the bag.

Not wanting him to feel obligated to say something nice – she thought she could have stood anything but Will patronizing her like a kid with a crush – she hurried on, "Like I said, I know you don't know feel the same way. I mean, how could you? You barely know me. And I know how you felt – how you feel – about Maya. I respect that. I just…I guess that's…"

At a loss for how to continue, Kate asked hopefully, "Does that answer your question?"

Looking hard at her, Will nodded. Kate wished again that she could figure out what he was thinking. Was he disgusted by her revelation? Embarrassed? Amused?

Touched?

After a long pause, without commenting on what she had said, Will remarked, "Guess that makes it my turn."

_I don't believe it – he's really going to tell me. He's going to tell me his name._

Eyes on hers, he said slowly, "I do feel like I've gone by this alias for so long it might as well be my real name. And in a way, I guess it kind of is."

Kate tilted her head to the side, trying to puzzle out what he meant. "I don't understand. Your real name is Will?"

"Not exactly. But when I asked for this assignment, I don't know, something about it felt…different."

Will stared down at his hands. Kate got the distinct impression that he was sharing something with her he had never told anyone else, something he probably hadn't allowed even himself to dwell on.

"I sort of always wanted to go to college. I guess that was part of it. Pretending to be this really smart guy, this engineering student – just, you know, just some normal person with big dreams for the future – the idea of that got to me from the beginning of the op, I guess. So when I had to select an alias, I was already thinking that I didn't want it to be something like 'Christian Malbek' or 'Ezra Tucker' that didn't mean anything to me. And then I saw the name of Maya's store, 'Have Books, Will Travel,' and it came to me: Will Traveler."

Kate could tell that he was working up the courage to reveal his name. She sympathized: Years and years of protecting one's identity were not easily stripped away. He had not, so far as she was aware, even told Maya who he really was.

"Will." She placed one hand lightly over his. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me your name. It's not like you owe me anything. I'll let you off the hook."

He swallowed roughly. Kate wanted to hold him, but with her recent revelation hanging between them, she didn't know if she should – she didn't know if he would let her.

"Liam."

The word came out so softly she almost didn't catch it. When it registered that Will had just said his name – well, his first name, anyway, which was still a huge revelation – out loud, Kate felt her heart rate triple for the third time that morning.

"Liam," she repeated, turning the name over in her mind, shaping it in her mouth. Somehow, it fit him. She smiled approvingly, wishing he didn't look so sad and lonely. "That's beautiful, it really is. How is it connected to 'Will Traveler,' though?"

"My mother was Irish, first-generation immigrant. 'Liam' is Irish for 'William.'"

_Liam and William…William and Will…Have Books, Will Travel…Will Traveler._

The symmetry of it struck a chord in Kate's heart. "That's…that's perfect. It really is."

"There's nothing perfect about me, Kate." The grimness of Will's tone served to quell the sunny feeling that had been spreading through Kate moments before. "You may think you know me, but the person you know is Will Traveler. That's the character I was playing. It's not me."

She felt more than a little abashed. "I realize that. I didn't mean – when I said, you know, what I said before…" She took a moment to collect her thoughts before finishing rather tightly, "I understand that there are things about you I don't know."

"Do you, Kate? Because what you told me," Will was making an effort to keep his words kind, Kate could tell, but she knew what was coming was going to hurt, "makes me think you want something from me that I can't give."

Wounded, Kate turned away from him. "I've never asked you for anything," she pointed out.

_You will not cry. You will not be that pathetic._

"No, you haven't," Will conceded. "Look, I don't want trouble between us, Kate. We're in a situation here where we need to work together. But you have to understand, I'm not someone you want to be involved with. Maya is dead because of me."

"Maya is dead because of Jack Freed," Kate couldn't stop herself shooting back. "Blaming yourself for that doesn't do any of us any good. And in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not some civilian who doesn't have any idea what she's getting into. The Fourth Branch has plenty of reasons to want me dead, whether I'm 'involved' with you or not."

She was furious suddenly. Furious that Will should have the audacity to tell her she didn't know him, when whatever he said about playing a part, she knew damn good and well that she _did _know him. Maybe even better than he knew himself.

And, of course, her fury was also fed by the simple fact that she knew a rejection when she heard one.

"Is this how you want to do this?" Will looked just as angry as Kate felt, though his rage was cold, calculated. "Fine. Here it is, Kate: You're right, I don't know you. I trust you because you're as fucked over in this situation as I am, so right now we both want the same thing and that means we're on the same side."

His voice was like steel, totally unbending. "And I don't care how many hours of surveillance footage you've watched, you don't know me like you think you do. If you did, you'd be glad I'm not in the market for a new girlfriend."

A stony silence fell between them. Kate's emotions were so jumbled she didn't know if she was angry, hurt, disappointed, frustrated – or some combination of all of those. The only thing she knew for certain was that, in accepting Will's gambit, she had lost.

_You knew better than to tell him how you felt. You knew he didn't feel the same. Whatever chance you had of winning him over eventually is gone now…_

Well, she told herself, blinking rapidly against tears that she would pluck her own eyes out before shedding in front of him, maybe it was better this way. Her infatuation had been distracting her; she needed to focus on taking down the Fourth Branch, on getting some semblance of a life back. For Christ's sake, was it possible that she had actually been _enjoying _this madness, all because it kept her close to Will?

Kate was ashamed. What had she been thinking? The truth was, she had no right to expect anything from Will beyond what he was offering her: a partnership. She was nothing to him, whatever he was – or whatever she wanted him to be – to her. Instead of manipulating circumstances to be alone with him, to touch his bare skin and stare into his pretty eyes, she needed to do the right thing – the smart thing – and just work with him to end this nightmare as quickly and painlessly as possible.

_Just like that? Just like that, can I let him go? _

_Because once this ends, it really will be over – he and I will both have to disappear, and I know that won't mean together…_

Kaitlyn Westbrook had not become a superior CIA operative by allowing her heart to rule her. Like Will, like everyone who managed to stay alive in their insane world, she knew how to make the tough choices, the personal sacrifices that felt like cutting away a pound of her own flesh.

Swallowing her pride, she forced herself to look Will in the eye. A wall had slammed shut there. She realized that the only way to salvage their partnership was for her to own up to her mistakes.

So she did.

"You're right," she said simply. Will blinked in surprise – apparently, he'd been prepped for a verbal assault. "I came to you because I thought I could help. I agreed to come along with you because I wanted to protect you and your friends. Since then I've let my emotions get the best of me, and that could get us all killed. We should both be focusing on the mission, nothing more. But don't worry. I'll keep things in perspective from now on, you have my word on that."

She stood up as Will got to his feet on the other side of the bed. Kate recognized that, by revealing how she really felt about him, she had pushed him much farther away than the physical space separating them.

_It doesn't matter. The mission matters. Focus on the mission._

Rather bitterly reflecting that such thoughts were becoming her new mantra, Kate started for the door. She needed to put some distance between herself and Will, to piece back together her shreds of pride and dignity, to figure out how to act around him now that she would have to not feel what she actually felt.

Will's voice stopped her. "Kate?"

She flinched as if he had struck her, she was that intent on escape. Reluctantly, she pivoted to look back at him. "Yes?"

Will looked decidedly uncomfortable. "I know this probably isn't the best time for asking favors, but...I'd prefer it if we kept my real name just between us. Okay?"

Kate knew her words would be imbued with a double-meaning. She privately vowed it would be the last allusion to her feelings for Will that she would allow herself.

"Like I said before, I'll always think of you as 'Will.' So don't worry," she ended, one foot out the door. "Your secret is safe with me."

**Part 2**

Tyrese Franklin had something to hide. Marlow surmised this within two minutes of meeting him and wanted to pummel Harold Stone for not being able to see beyond his blind loyalty to anyone who could sport a Semper Fi bumper sticker.

Franklin was discerning enough to pick up on the fact that Marlow didn't trust him. Instead of attempting to convince her of his fidelity, following their introductions in the back room of the dilapidated tavern he simply said, "Why don't you tell me what's bothering you about me, Agent Marlow, and I'll see if I can address your concerns."

Marlow sized up her new acquaintance. He was older than she was, probably closer to Carlton Fog's age – old enough to be a Vietnam vet, certainly, and the haunted look in his eyes suggested that perhaps he was a veteran of some stripe. She wondered if he had been counting on her to feel kinship with him because they were both black, but she quickly dismissed that idea. Skin color aside, she and Franklin had operated in the world of white people too long to play the race card, even with one another.

_No brothahs or sistahs here. Just people, trying to stay alive._

"All right," Marlow accepted Franklin's offer as Stone placed three ice-cold bottles of Budweiser around their small table. "Let's start with how you found out about my partner's investigation into Otis Whaley."

"The Fourth Branch monitors activity on the NSA database," Franklin answered evenly. "Once Harold plugged in Whaley's name, certain individuals – like Jack Freed – were alerted."

"But if you're not working for the Branch anymore," Marlow pressed, "how did you know about it?"

"Just because I don't work for these people doesn't mean I don't watch them. I know their methods." Franklin took a long swig of beer. Marlow hadn't touched hers and didn't intend to: She wanted a sharp mind for this interview. "And I still have my contacts on the inside. People who don't like everything the Branch is doing, or the way they're doing it."

Marlow waited for him to go on. When he didn't, she pegged him for the type of suspect who would offer only the minimum amount of information to answer a question. She knew what that meant.

He didn't just have "something" to hide. He had a BIG something to hide.

Treading carefully, Marlow decided to play along, to let Franklin become comfortable in the belief that he could outsmart her. So she pretended to find his answer sufficient and moved on, asking next, "What's your interest in the Drexler bombing? How are you connected to Burchell and Fog and Traveler?"

"Traveler I helped to train, though not directly," Franklin answered. "Seeing the uses he was put to was one of the reasons why I decided to leave Hometown and the Branch." Franklin's face darkened with bad memories. "I kept tabs on his career through some of my contacts. When he was assigned to spy on Tyler Fog and Jay Burchell, I knew Freed had something big in the works."

Stone joined their conversation, sounding like he was on his second beer – which he was. "What's so special about Burchell? Fog I get. But why Burchell?"

"Jay Burchell's father was a Marine," Marlow answered for Franklin, keeping her eyes on her suspect's to gauge his reaction. "I'm betting he was involved with the Fourth Branch somehow, wasn't he?"

"Yes. I didn't know him, but I knew of him – a good soldier, by all accounts, but one of his missions went bad and he wasn't willing to take responsibility."

"Or," Marlow offered her alternative theory somewhat heatedly, "he pissed off the wrong people and they decided to ruin him."

Franklin shrugged. "Either way, I had a feeling Freed was intending to frame those boys for some sort of terrorist attack when he tasked Traveler to go undercover as their roommate. Like sending a wolf in amongst the sheep."

The tone of his voice when he spoke about Will Traveler sparked irritation in Marlow, who had a difficult time viewing the young man as the enemy given that he had been duped and betrayed just like Burchell and Fog. More than annoying her, however, Franklin's attitude toward Traveler tipped Marlow off that Franklin had a personal beef either with Will himself or with what he represented – Project Hometown.

She decided to keep the focus there. "So you kept an eye on Traveler for two years while he roomed with Burchell and Fog. Why? What were you planning to do? You obviously didn't stop him from blowing up the Drexler."

Franklin finished off his beer before answering. Marlow could tell he was looking for a way to give her a partial truth without exciting her suspicions.

_Too late, asshole. I'm reading you like an open book._

"I didn't think I could stop Traveler from carrying out his mission," he replied at length, watching Stone disappear behind the counter in search of more beer. "But I knew he didn't intend to kill Burchell or Fog in that explosion, so I positioned myself at their hotel where I could help them get away."

Marlow was flabbergasted. "You? You're the one who helped them escape from the hotel?"

"I found out where Fog had booked them while they were in New York and posed as a porter," Franklin explained.

"And Traveler didn't recognize you?"

"Traveler had never seen me. I told you, I wasn't directly involved with his training," Franklin reminded her. "I supervised his handler, a woman named Alex. I watched tapes of his progress and instructed her in how to proceed."

Unable to contain her anger, Marlow said in a voice thick with contempt, "You mean you told her how much to torture him in order to make him some kind of killing machine."

"Marlow's sort of anti-military," Stone apologized to Franklin, plunking a beer down in front of his comrade and popping the top on another cold one for himself. "You'll have to excuse her attitude about things like basic training. She calls it 'brainwashing.'"

"What we did to the agents in Hometown wasn't basic training." Franklin met Marlow's gaze unflinchingly; she at least respected him for that. "I'm not proud of what I helped Freed orchestrate here, Agent Marlow. I've tried to keep Burchell and Fog alive and out of the Branch's grasp ever since this went down. I'm only one man – there's only so much I can do."

_There it is. There's the first lie._

Up until that point, Marlow had determined that Franklin was not technically lying to her – he was simply omitting important portions of the truth. Yet the moment the words left his mouth – _"I'm only one man" _– she spotted a tell-tale twitch at the corner of his mouth and knew, knew in her bones, that he was flat-out lying.

Casually, Marlow half-raised her beer bottle to her lips, as if preparing to take a sip. Franklin and Stone followed her lead and started to drink from their bottles, just as she had hoped they would do.

_Okay, you son of a bitch, it's time for answers._

In a flash, Marlow jumped to her feet, kicking her chair over in the process, and smashed her full beer bottle down atop Franklin's head. Stone yelped; Franklin groaned and slid sideways, instantly unconscious from the blunt-force trauma.

"Jesus Christ, Jan!" Stone was shouting. Marlow ignored him, rushing over to the wall and yanking the cord off of a neon Miller Lite sign. "What the hell did you do that for? I told you, he's one of the good guys!"

Marlow drew her pistol and leveled it at Stone, who stared at her in stunned disbelief. "Harold," Marlow forced herself not to betray any fear or uncertainty by allowing a tremor to creep into her voice, "you're either with me or you're with him. But I'm telling you right now, this man is holding back, and what's more, he's lying to us. Now I am sick to death of being fucked around by these people. I have been shot at, I have attended my partner's funeral, I have been forced out of my home. I am going to get some answers from this man, and if you get in my way, I'm going to assume you're part of whatever he's a part of, and I swear to God, I will shoot you if it comes down to that."

Stone fell back on his haunches and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, Jan, okay. We'll do it your way."

"Good." Marlow did not put her gun back in its holster. Instead, she tossed the cord to Stone and instructed, "Get him back in that chair and tie his hands, and I mean tightly, Harold."

"Are you going to keep pointing that thing at me?" he demanded petulantly as he obeyed.

"I'm sorry, Harold, but yes, I am." Marlow had been betrayed too frequently in the past week to rely any longer on a man she had not seen for five years. She felt foolish for trusting him so blindly just hours earlier; she wished she could trust him that way still, she wanted to believe that he was the man she thought he was, but her survival depended on certainties, not wishes.

After Stone secured Franklin to his chair, Marlow walked him back to one of the freezers and ordered him inside. "I'll freeze to death in here," Stone protested, rubbing his arms.

Marlow pulled a heavy parka off the wall beside her, probably kept there by one of the tavern employees whose job it was to stock the freezers. "Put this on and keep moving. I'll be back to check on you before long."

"You're making a mistake, Jan. I'm not your enemy."

"If that's really the truth," Marlow responded, "then you'll understand why I have to do this, and you'll forgive me."

Without waiting for a response, she closed the freezer door and locked it from the outside.

Back at the table, she didn't have to wait long for Franklin to come around. Blood and beer dripping off his scalp, he blinked awake, slowly bringing her and the gun she had trained on him from across the table into focus.

He smiled thinly. "You're smarter than I gave you credit for, Agent Marlow. What was it that gave me away?"

"Your Lone Ranger comment."

"Ah." Franklin gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "I thought that might have been overkill."

"Here's what I think." During the brief time that Franklin had been unconscious, Marlow's excellent mind had spun through everything she knew about the Drexler bombing, about Burchell and Fog, about Will Traveler, about Hometown and about the Fourth Branch. She had made some connections, and she wanted to test out their soundness with her captive.

"I think you never really left the Fourth Branch. I think you left Freed because of Hometown – I think something went south between the two of you over that program, like you said, but I don't think you walked away from the entire organization. In fact, I don't think anybody walks away from these people and lives to tell the tale. Burchell's father didn't."

Franklin inclined his head toward her, as if to say, _Well done. _"Not bad, Agent Marlow. You're right so far."

Aware of the minutes ticking by, aware that an army of Fourth Branch operatives could be swarming the tavern even as they spoke, Marlow pressed on. "I think you were under orders to 'keep tabs' on Hometown agents like Traveler, as you put it. I think whoever you're working for knew that sooner or later, Freed was going to abandon any pretense of using those operatives for FBI business. He was going to put them to work as his own private army. And that had to make some people nervous."

"Right again." Franklin appeared supremely unconcerned with how much Marlow knew. She couldn't help wondering if that was because he didn't intend for her to leave the tavern alive. "I should have recruited you instead of Stone, Agent Marlow. I have to admit, I'm impressed."

_I could give a shit what you are, _Marlow wanted to say, but the information she needed was too important to allow herself to be side-tracked. "What I don't understand is why whoever you're working for would want to let Traveler frame Burchell and Fog for the Drexler. I don't understand why they would want to let Traveler blow up that museum. And that," she ever-so-slightly shifted the gun, reminding Franklin of who held the power for the time being, "is what you're going to tell me."

"Please understand, Agent Marlow, that there are things I don't know."

"I'll be the one to decide what you do and don't know, Mr. Franklin. You just start talking. Now."

With a tired sigh, Franklin seemed to acknowledge that he had no choice – at least, he did not have a good choice. "All right. You want to know why the people I work for would want Freed's plan to succeed, at least in part? Because Will Traveler wasn't just carrying out an act of homeland terrorism. Freed sent him to blow up that museum because that was where President Shears' private collection was."

Impatiently, Marlow broke in, "I know Freed wanted a painting destroyed, and I know Traveler stole it. What I don't know is why."

"The painting Traveler stole was a fake. A forgery. The real painting was hidden," Franklin patiently explained. "But the people I work for needed Freed to believe that the real painting had been destroyed in the explosion. That was why I didn't try to prevent Traveler from carrying out his mission – blowing up the Drexler was necessary for the greater good."

_These people and their 'greater good' bullshit._

Marlow was shaking her head, disgusted. "Risk hundreds of innocent lives to destroy a fake painting? Sacrifice American citizens to hide the real thing? That doesn't sound like the 'greater good' to me, Mr. Franklin. That sounds like some rich son of a bitch's idea of a power-play."

"There are things at work here you don't understand. Things you can't understand by looking in from the outside," Franklin argued. Her words had angered him, she could tell. "People like Jack Freed will stop at nothing to gain control of this country. They will do a hell of a lot more damage than blowing up a couple of buildings to get what they want."

"And that is?"

"Power. Absolute power."

Franklin was not lying now: He was too furious at her for questioning his patriotism to bother. Marlow was pleased to find that she still had the touch – she had always been able to find the right buttons to push to get a suspect to talk.

And Franklin was talking now, bent on making her understand his motives. "None of this messy aftermath was supposed to happen. Traveler was supposed to blow up the painting, and I was going to help Burchell and Fog get to Fog's father, Carlton. He was going to get them away safely.

"But Traveler didn't blow up the painting – he stole it. And Freed already knew that Traveler had gone off the reservation, even before he knew the painting was missing, so he already had Fallbrook Dunn crawling all over Carlton Fog the instant Burchell and Fog showed up on the news alive instead of dead. I kept my part of the bargain – I saw to it that they could reach Carlton – but he couldn't get them away. He was being watched too closely."

Picturing John Ellington's blood-soaked, tortured body in her mind, Marlow understood why Carlton Fog had not risked bucking Fallbrook Dunn's instructions, even where his son's life was concerned. Dying like that would not be pretty.

"And then there was the problem of Traveler," Franklin was saying. "At first, Freed thought he was dead, a crispy critter along with the painting – I didn't buy that, knowing Traveler, but I wasn't too concerned about his whereabouts until he turned up at a fence's house asking for details about the damn painting, which, it turns out, he has on him. I didn't have any choice: I had to try to find him and get that painting back, before Freed got his hands on it and found out it was a fake."

Over the next hour, Franklin relayed to Marlow (and a half-frozen Stone, whom she eventually retrieved from the freezer and allowed to warm up while tied to a chair with some old twine she found in the stockroom) how he had traced Will to Deer Harbor, Maine, and had tried to tag him with a tracking device in case Freed's men grabbed him – which they had, moments later. After being pinned down in a firefight, Franklin had been separated from Burchell and Fog and had made his way back to D.C., where he learned of the FBI investigation into Whaley and decided to bring Stone in on the plot.

"Why Harold?" Marlow challenged, sensing that the interview was winding down. "Why not me or Borjes?"

"Because of Chambers," Franklin answered. Once more, Marlow was certain that he was being completely up-front with her. "I knew that sneaky little bastard would be watching every move you and your partner made. I didn't think it would be safe for you."

"Well, not knowing turned out to be just as dangerous." Marlow waved off whatever apologies Franklin might have offered; they would have been empty, and she was too weary to listen to them.

"So what now? Are you still looking for Traveler and the painting?"

Stone shook his head. "No, the forgery was destroyed in that car bombing that killed Jack Freed. The real one's gone, too." He hesitated before adding, rather reluctantly, "It turned out not to be as important as everyone thought, so…"

"So a bunch of people have had their lives ruined for nothing," Marlow finished for him. Her words were brittle; she was angry, but having nowhere to direct that anger, she pushed it away from herself. "And Burchell and Fog and Traveler are being hunted down like dogs for what reason now? Just to shut them up?"

"Traveler knows too much. He's a liability, especially when he's partnered up with a CIA operative who's gone rogue," Franklin explained. "Burchell told you about Traveler meeting with Joseph Langdon, didn't he?"

Marlow heard Burchell's words again, over the pulse-pounding beat of the club music: _"This is a recording of some guy named Joseph ordering Will to blow up the Drexler and saying the Drexler was just the first step in a much larger plan."_

Her blood ran cold. "Yes. Do you know what the 'next step' is that Langdon was talking about?"

Stone and Franklin shared a meaningful look. "Before we go any further here, Jan, I think it's only right that you understand that you don't have to be involved," Stone put in. His voice and his eyes conveyed to her the seriousness of what was to come. "Franklin has contacts – hell, I have contacts – that can get you out of the country, someplace safe. You don't have to know anymore than you know right now. I promise you, I won't walk away from this.

"You know me, Jan," he persisted, as if spotting the weakening in her defenses against him. "You've always known me. One thing I am not is a traitor to this country. I would die to protect America and her citizens."

"So would I." Marlow squared her shoulders. Her gaze took in both Franklin and Stone. "I may not be military, but I am an FBI agent. I can't walk away if I know that innocent people's lives are at stake."

_And I'll be damned if I'm letting the people who killed my partner get away with it. I want to put a bullet in Fred Chambers' heart myself._

"She's serious," Stone said to Franklin, who was eyeing him questioningly. "The only way you'll get her out of this is if you hog-tie her and ship her off on a slow boat to China. Even that probably wouldn't be enough."

Marlow couldn't suppress a smile. Stone still knew her, at any rate.

"Fine." Franklin turned to Marlow. "The people Freed was working with chose the Drexler as their target because it served a certain purpose, but there was always a plan to bomb an American landmark, to create another Nine-Eleven-style panic. And a few weeks after that, just when people would be starting to think things were back to normal, the plan was to carry out an even more devastating attack."

Feeling as if a bucket of icy water had been poured over her head, Marlow asked, "What's the target?"

"It's not a bomb," Franklin corrected somberly. "It's worse."

When Franklin finished his tale nearly an hour later, Marlow almost wished she had taken Stone up on his offer to escape – almost. Standing, she wordlessly cut Stone's bonds and left him to free Franklin, heading for the phone behind the bar.

"Who are you calling?" Stone demanded.

"The only two people we know of who are in deep enough to help us prevent this disaster," she replied over her shoulder. "Traveler and Westbrook. I just hope they're still alive."

**Part 3**

Following a lunch of canned chicken-noodle soup and brown rice – the best Kim could scrape together on short notice from Kate's stores – Liz managed to convince Tyler to go lie down. He looked terrible: His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, his skin pale and clammy. She was desperately worried about him. Witnessing his father's death seemed to have snapped something in him, to have driven him deep inside where she wasn't sure she could reach him.

Kim and Jay had already deposited their meager belongings in the smaller middle bedroom, and Kate had taken over the farthest and smallest one (Will had spent the majority of the day in the basement and seemed to plan on crashing on the sofa down there), so Liz led Tyler into what appeared to be the master bedroom. A bay window provided a gorgeous view of the surrounding woods; early evening sunlight dappled the cherry-stained floors and white-washed walls in a warm, summery glow.

Tyler paused for a minute in front of the window, tipping his face back as if drinking in the sunlight. He looked so beautiful and so sad that Liz's heart broke for him.

"Come on, baby." She gently tugged him down onto clean sheets taken out of plastic bags in the hall closet. "You need to rest."

Tyler stretched out alongside her, pulling her against him so that her head rested on his chest. "I was really scared for you," he said into her hair, kissing the top of her head. "Did they hurt you?"

Honestly, Liz replied, "No. That man Chambers questioned us for a long time – he wanted to know everything we knew about Will and Kate especially, like we have any idea what the two of them are planning to do. We did what Will said and just answered him. But," she added with a measure of pride, "we sort of didn't answer him, either. We told him the truth but both of us were pretty careful not to offer up any information that wasn't strictly asked for, you know what I mean?"

"You're very brave, Liz."

"No, I'm not. You should have seen me when Chambers first showed up – I was a mess." Liz recalled with a blush how terrified she had been. Kim had been so strong, so stoic, while Liz had wanted to hide under the couch like a five-year-old. "Kim was the one who was brave. I just followed her lead."

"But they didn't hurt you? You swear?"

"I swear, baby, they didn't even touch us."

Tyler gently lifted Liz's bandaged arm. "How is this healing?"

"It's better. You took good care of me." Liz tilted her face up to plant a quick kiss on Tyler's lips. He smiled bleakly down at her, and she sensed again that, although he was saying the right things, some part of him had retreated behind a wall she couldn't breach.

_Please don't turn away from me, not now. Let me help you._

Much as she cared for Tyler, though, Liz wasn't blind to the fact that they hadn't known one another for very long. She wasn't certain exactly how to go about making him understand that she would carry some of the burden if he would let her – at least not without sounding like a bad Hallmark card. So, instead of trying to put into words how she felt, she snuggled against him with her nose buried in his neck and tried to convey the depth of her feelings in her touch.

She didn't know how well it worked, but Tyler at least seemed to be comforted by her closeness, for within minutes he was sound asleep. Liz was tired as well – she had slept only fitfully during their captivity and had really only dozed in the car after their rescue – yet she couldn't seem to shut off her mind long enough to fall asleep. She kept wondering what their next move would be, where they would go when they eventually left this quaint little house, how long it would be before another member of their group ended up captured or dead…

Despair was not in Liz's nature. When her mother had been dying, Liz had decorated her room with sunflowers cut out of construction paper and had sung happy tunes like "Jesus Loves Me" and "This Little Light of Mine" to help her mother fall asleep. When she had been sent to live with her grandmother, she had joined the elderly lady's Tuesday night bridge club and had designed outrageous hats for her grandmother and her friends to wear to bingo games at the nearby Catholic church. When her grandmother had gone into the nursing home, she had painted the walls of the impersonally-sterile room with bright yellow sunflowers (which always made her think lovingly of her mother, her grandmother's daughter) and had chatted pleasantly with her grandmother no matter how confused the elderly lady became. It was no wonder Liz's childhood friends had nicknamed her Sunny – such was her disposition.

And so, she found that she could not actually despair even in this dire situation. She kept seeking out the silver lining: If Tyler hadn't approached her in that bar, she never would have had a chance at the kind of once-in-a-lifetime, sweep-you-off-your-feet romance she had always read about longingly; if the Fourth Branch hadn't taken her hostage, she never would have found a soul-sister in Kim, the sort of friend Liz had always wished for; if she hadn't come along with them on this perilous journey, she never would have gotten to know Jay, who was so nice and so smart, or Kate, who was so pretty and so clever, or Will, who was so strong and so brave. Obviously, she would have preferred to know them all under different circumstances – say, like, circumstances that would make for a good NBC spin-off of _Friends. _

But circumstances aside, Liz was glad to be amongst her new friends. Lying in Tyler's arms with the sunset blazing over them, Liz made a conscious decision to be happy, no matter what came next.

Her determination was almost instantly put to the test. From beyond the closed bedroom door, low, nervous voices in the hallway told her something was up. Gently extracting herself from Tyler, who was so deeply asleep he didn't even stir, Liz stepped into the hallway to find Kate rounding up Kim and Jay.

"What's happened?" she asked, her heart skipping a beat as she took in the anxious looks on their faces.

"Marlow called," Kate replied. "C'mon, Will's downstairs. He wants to talk to all of us."

Liz followed them down the basement steps to Will's "command center": During the afternoon, he had retrieved Buchanan's files from the Explorer and had spread them out all over the floor, hooking up Kate's laptop so he could research any clues found within them. The white-washed walls were covered in cryptic notes scribbled in Will's small, neat handwriting on Post-Its; she had no idea what any of it meant, but she sensed that they were at last making progress on figuring out what the Branch really wanted.

"Where's Tyler?" Will, seated on the couch surrounded by papers, asked as they all filed in.

"He's sleeping. Unless there's some immediate danger, he needs to rest." Liz's tone made it clear that, as the girlfriend, she was pulling rank in this decision.

No one argued. Jay sat down in the recliner and pulled Kim onto his lap. Liz selected a spot on the floor in front of them, sitting cross-legged with her back against the chair beside Jay's feet. Kate – rather reluctantly, Liz thought – sat down next to Will on the couch.

Will delivered the bad news matter-of-factly. Marlow, he informed them, had gathered some disturbing intel about the Branch's endgame. According to her source, Will said, Belenus Pharmaceuticals – Vivian Buchanan's company – had managed to develop a biological weapon they were calling Morbus.

"The name refers to the Roman personification of the diseases released from Pandora's box," Will explained, seeing the blank looks around him. "It's a designer brand of anthrax."

Liz felt a little silly for knowing so little about a biological weapon that had paralyzed the country with terror a few years ago, but she decided that it was better to reveal her ignorance than to not understand what the people who were trying to kill her were up to. So she asked, "What's a 'designer' brand of anthrax? What's wrong with regular anthrax?"

If Will thought she was an idiot, he hid it very well. "Anthrax is nasty stuff, but what makes it effective as a military weapon makes it impractical for a large-scale terrorist attack. You see, anthrax only infects the people who come into direct contact with it. You have to breathe it in or eat it or get into your bloodstream through a cut or something for it to make you sick. So if you wanted to use anthrax as a weapon, you'd have to send someone a package laced with it, or disperse it through a building's ventilation system, or somehow get it into the food or water supply. The fact that its infectiousness is so controllable makes it ideal for hitting a specific target, but that also means it's pretty inefficient for infecting large groups of people.

"The bacterium in Morbus behaves like anthrax in the sort of lung infection that it causes. But it's designed to be communicable – once one person is infected with it, that person can spread the disease to anyone who comes into contact with them."

Will's words fell into the room like stones. Liz tried and failed to wrap her mind around the kind of depravity required to create such a horrible weapon. Who the hell were these people, and what could they possibly want so badly that they would be willing to literally open Pandora's box?

Jay's expression reflected Liz's own horror. Kim, on the other hand, looked downright nauseous; her face had gone deathly pale. Before Liz could ask if she was all right, however, Jay was demanding of Will, "Did Marlow know what the Fourth Branch is planning to do with this stuff? I mean, surely they're not going to release it in the US. They couldn't possibly control its spread – they could end up killing themselves!"

"They have a cure," Kate put in quietly. Liz noticed that her eyes were on Kim, too, and that she looked as concerned as Liz felt. "Obviously they won't advertise that at first – they'll wait for a nice panic to break out so people will let them punch holes in the Bill of Rights. But before it's all said and done, Belenus Pharmaceuticals will save the day with a miracle pill."

"And make billions of dollars in the process," Jay finished for her, shaking his head in disgusted disbelief. "Jesus Christ."

Suddenly, Kim jumped to her feet and rushed up the stairs. Jay and Will started; Liz and Kate leapt up to follow her.

"What – " Will began.

"She's fine. I think she's a little sick," Liz hurriedly called back over her shoulder, taking the steps two at a time to keep up with Kate. "The flu or something…We'll be back."

The boys seemed to sense that this was a "girl thing," because neither of them followed Kate and Liz down the hall to the bathroom. Behind the closed door, they could hear Kim retching.

"She's done this before?" Kate softly inquired of Liz.

Liz nodded. "A couple of times over the last few days. She just gets sick at her stomach all of a sudden and all weak and dizzy…"

_Oh holy shit, I am such a moron._

Understanding dawned on Liz as she relayed Kim's symptoms to Kate, who appeared to already be several logical leaps ahead of her in figuring out what was wrong with their friend. Tapping lightly on the door, Kate called, "Kim? It's Kate and Liz. Can we come in?"

"Y-yeah," Kim answered shakily. "Come on in."

Kate shut the door behind them. Kim was leaning over the sink, pale and trembling. Kate steered her over to the edge of the tub and sat her down. Liz grabbed a washcloth out of the linen closet, ran cold water over it and bathed her friend's face.

"I don't know what is wrong with me." Kim sounded embarrassed. "I can't believe I've picked up the flu in the middle of all of this."

Liz and Kate exchanged glances. "Um, Kim," Liz inquired tentatively, "don't you think if it was the flu, you'd be sick all the time, not just on and off?"

"Well, what else could it be?" Kim looked from Liz to Kate, and suddenly all of the blood drained out of her face. "You don't think the Branch infected me with something, do you?"

Liz couldn't quite contain a giggle. Kim stared at her indignantly. Liz said quickly, "I'm sorry, Kim, it's just…Well, think about it. You're dizzy and weak, you get tired very easily, you get nauseous for no reason. What does that sound like to you?"

If possible, Kim's face went even paler. Liz could see her mentally counting up the weeks since her last menstrual period, and apparently, the calculation confirmed what she and Kate suspected.

Kim was pregnant.

"This can't be happening," Kim moaned, cradling her head in her hands. Tears dripped off her chin onto her jeans. Kate and Liz sat down on either side of her, each rubbing her back and smoothing her long hair. "This can't be…We've always been so careful, I always take my birth control, we always use a condom…"

"Honey," Kate said gently, smiling slightly at Liz over the top of Kim's head, "I hate to point this out, but nothing is fool-proof."

Liz could only imagine what her friend was feeling. As if it wouldn't be enough of a blow to discover an unplanned pregnancy, to make that discovery while on the run for one's life – while the baby's father was at the top of the FBI's Most Wanted List…It was horribly unfair, it really was.

_This should be a happy time, a wonderful thing. But she has to be so scared…_

"Kim," Kate was saying, picking up Kim's hand and holding it gently. "I can talk to Will. There are places we can send you where you and the baby will be safe – "

"This baby won't be safe until we stop the Fourth Branch." Once again, Kim's resiliency amazed Liz: She raised her head, and just like that, determination had replaced despair. "Even if you could hide me, Jay would still be on the run, and I am not going to raise this child by myself. Or in hiding, for that matter. And anyway, if these people are planning biological attacks on the country, where would any of us be safe?"

Liz stepped in before Kate could argue, because she looked like she wanted to. "If you want to stay, Kim, then you should. But you've got to start taking better care of yourself. None of us are sleeping or eating well, and that has to stop for you. You're under so much stress from being scared and upset all the time, if you add physical distress to that…"

She didn't have to finish her warning. Taking her meaning, Kim readily agreed, "I can do that. I can."

Although she obviously disagreed with Kim's decision, Kate accepted it without comment. "How far along do you think you are?"

"I don't know…A month, maybe?" Kim took the washcloth from Liz and used it to dab at the tear stains on her cheeks. "It can't be much more than that."

"Then Liz is right, you have to be very careful with yourself. Now is a delicate time for the baby. You could easily miscarry."

Liz suddenly wondered if perhaps Kim would prefer that. It was an awful thought, of course, but given their current situation…

Yet the light in Kim's eyes quickly dispelled those thoughts. In spite of the terrible timing, Liz could see that her friend was warming to the idea of having Jay's baby. She had placed her hands almost unconsciously over her stomach, clasping her fingers together as if to provide a protective shield for the life growing there.

"What do I tell Jay?" she asked softly, looking from Liz to Kate.

Now that was a tough call. Liz turned to Kate, who seemed to have most life experience of the three of them. But Kate shook her head rather sadly. "I don't think I'm the best person to be asking relationship advice of right now, Kim."

Remembering the distance Kate had kept between herself and Will downstairs, Liz prompted, "Fight with Will?"

Startled, Kate stammered, "No, I…I mean…"

Kim laughed. "Oh, come off it, Kate, we see the way you look at him. It's not like it's a big secret how you feel."

"Well." Cheeks turning pink, Kate hastily busied herself wiping down the sink where Kim had been sick. "That's…that doesn't matter anymore. Nothing will ever come of it."

_Wow, Will must have been awfully cruel to get to somebody as hard as Kate._

Feeling a stab of anger toward their leader and a strong sense of solidarity toward the two women beside her, Liz stood up and squeezed Kate's shoulder. "Hey, it'll be okay," she assured her, infusing her voice with the sunny tone for which she had been nicknamed. "I mean, look at us: Here we are, in the midst of disaster, but we're all holding it together. We're even managing to get in some girl-talk. I'd say we're tough enough to make it through just about anything."

"Supergirls," Kim observed, grinning. "That'd be us."

Kate and Liz both laughed. As they made for the door, Liz had to ask, "So, are you going to tell Jay?"

"Soon," Kim decided, one hand still resting protectively on her belly. "But I think for the time being, he has enough to worry about."

**Part 4**

Long after the others had gone to sleep, Will sat on the downstairs couch staring into the darkness. His chest ached where Vi's knife had sliced him; he thought she must have slashed deeper than he'd originally thought, probably cutting some muscle and tendon in places. His right eye stung whenever he moved it in its socket; the gouges beneath it had left the skin so swollen and tender he could hardly bring himself to splash water on his face. All he wanted was to sleep, a long, dreamless sleep. Try as he might, however, he could not seem to wipe the detritus of the long, tiring day from his weary mind.

He moved back through the troubling events as if putting them in order would help him come to grips with all that had happened in so short a time. First had come the fight with Vi - which would have been enough to create a sleepless night in and of itself. Seeing her had not only reminded him jarringly of Maya, it had also brought back memories long-buried: memories of the boy he had been before joining Hometown, of the months of misery he had endured for what he believed was a higher purpose, of the friendships he had cultivated and lost, one by one, over the past six years. Will found himself scrambling to rebuild walls he had thought were impenetrable, walls that protected him from feelings he had to compartmentalize in order to function.

And then they had lost Carlton, and in a way, some essential part of Tyler with him. Will regretted that Carlton Fog had died. He now realized that he had hoped, right up until the last possible second that a scenario might present itself in which he could take Carlton away with them. Still, it was better that the death had been quick, instead of long and drawn-out and torturous as it would have been had they actually handed Carlton over to Chambers. Kate had gotten that part right. Will supposed he could have dealt with Carlton's death better if Tyler hadn't been so absolutely devastated by it.

Next had come the argument – was that even the right word? – with Kate. Her revelation of her feelings for him had floored Will: He had known something was off between them, but she could have knocked him over with a feather when she basically admitted that she was in love with him. Yet another jarring reminder of Maya – and a complication Will honestly hadn't known how to deal with.

Lying his head back on the couch cushions and propping his feet on the coffee table, Will tried to sort out how he felt about Kate. If he was completely honest with himself (which he rarely was), he would have to acknowledge that he found her attractive. Not just physically, though that aspect was there too; yet more than that, he liked how she thought, how she planned, how she reacted. Even during his "interrogation" he had respected her self-possession. And after she had held him at Maya's grave, he felt like something had changed between them, like some essential barrier had been pulled down. Normally, that would have terrified him. In this instance, it had comforted him.

Was it just because he was lonely and tired and grieving and afraid? Or was he drawn to something else about Kate? Not in the same way he had been drawn to Maya, of course – there would only ever be one Maya for Will, only one great love of his life. But maybe the nature of his feelings toward Kate, and of his feelings about _her_ feelings for _him_, existed somewhere along that same continuum. Maybe, in time, those feelings could even have deepened from attraction and respect to something…more.

The more he thought about, so tired his eyes burned behind their closed lids, the more Will thought that explanation fit. So he knew he had made the right decision in warning her to back off. He had done what he should have done with Maya: He had put Kate's safety before his own desires, whatever those might have turned out to be.

_They'll all be better off without me._

Nevertheless, Will would have been deceiving himself if he had pretended to be glad that his relationship with Kate had taken such a turn. When he had originally offered to tell her his name, he'd only been half-serious – until her answer had been so serious, he couldn't back out of his part of the bargain. Besides, he had hoped that telling her his name (his first name, anyway, he wasn't giving up all of his secrets so easily) would help her understand that she really didn't know him. What was more, he wanted her to understand that he couldn't allow her to.

Sharing that much of himself with someone only to have her hardly be able stand to look at him now hurt, he wouldn't deny it. But it was his doing – he had wounded her deliberately, had been as cold as he could possibly be so she would see that he wasn't someone she wanted – and he held firm to his choice.

_When this is all over, I'm gone. They can get on with their lives without me – and that means Kate, too._

And then, to top off the whole sordid mess, Marlow had phoned Kate to drop the bomb about the Branch's bioterrorism plot. Will had feared something like this, yet having it confirmed – by none other than Tyrese Franklin, another name from the past that sent chills down Will's spine – was horrifying. The stakes were so much higher than simply securing his friends' safety now. Taking down the Fourth Branch had become a mission bigger than any single person.

That fact alone unnerved Will. He wanted out of Hometown, the FBI, the Branch, all of it. He didn't want to be a soldier anymore. He had told himself that his final mission would be undoing the damage he had done to his friends' lives and, in the process, avenging Maya. He now had a strong suspicion that those two missions – protecting his friends and stopping the Branch's plot – might conflict with one another. And if they did, he might be asked to make an impossible decision: sacrifice his friends for the sake of the country, or sacrifice thousands of innocent lives to save his friends…

As these worries tumbled through Will's mind, his body became heavier, his limbs leaden. His breathing slowed. Gradually, blessedly, sleep stole over him…

He stands in the brilliant glare of a tropical sun, pearl-white sand and sapphire-blue water stretching out before him as far as he can see. For an instant, he can't figure out how he got there – where were his friends? – until he realizes that he is dreaming. He has to be dreaming, because the slender figure crossing the sand toward him, clad in a gauzy rose-pink dress and beaming, is dead, gone forever.

She stops in front of him. She is beautiful, perfect. The sunlight catches the highlights in her golden hair and reflects off the deep blue of her irises. She opens her arms to him; he steps into them. Even though this is a dream she is solid and warm, as alive to him as if she had never been taken.

"You're the one that I love," she whispers in his ear, echoing their old endearment.

He says it back: "You're the one that I love."

She kisses him. She tastes sweet, like strawberries and honey. "Come," she says, though he wants to stand in the sunshine with her forever. She tugs him toward the water. "Come on, Will. Trust me."

He follows her unquestioningly as she walks into the warm, salty waves. The water reaches their waists, their chests; it slips over their heads, but Will can breathe. Or perhaps he doesn't need to breathe, as they plunge through the clear-blue depths toward the bottom of the ocean.

He keeps his eyes on her, moving effortlessly through the water ahead of him. She reminds him of a mermaid. He wonders briefly if he is glimpsing Maya's heaven. He hopes so; she would be happy here, with the water and the breeze and the sun. She loved the ocean. It was why he had planned their escape by boat – anything to make her smile.

After what seems like a very long time, she surfaces inside a cave. He sits drying on a rock in the cool damp, drinking in the briny smell of saltwater, staring around him as she sways to music he cannot hear. The walls are strange; they seem to be moving. It takes him a minute to realize that they aren't walls at all, but mirrors – huge mirrors, reflecting not what is happening in the cave but everything that has happened to him over the past six years.

"Where are we?" he asks her. He is puzzled but not frightened: He knows, with a bone-deep certainty, that nothing could hurt him in this place.

"Someplace safe." She sits beside him, stretching out her long legs and gazing down at her bare toes. "Someplace safe for you to think, Will."

And suddenly, he realizes that he is thinking, and his thoughts are reflected back at him from the mirrors. He sees it all, Hometown and the Fourth Branch and Carlton Fog and the Drexler and Belenus Pharmaceuticals, with a clarity that his waking mind would have found impossible. With a flash of insight that seems to illuminate the entire cave like a lightning-strike, he sees the connections that have been eluding him.

He knows what he has to do.

He turns to her where she sits so quietly beside him, splashing her feet in the water like a playful nymph. His heart aches with longing.

"I don't want to leave here," he says.

She fluidly shifts herself so that she is straddling his lap, smiling that sweetly-seductive smile he never could resist. "Someday," she promises. "Someday you can stay. But not yet. People still need you."

She lowers her mouth to his. "Kiss me, Will…"

He is kissing her but at the same time he is inside one of the mirrors, spinning back through time until he stands in the storeroom of her bookstore – _Have Books, Will Travel. _They have finished their meeting and he should be going, back to New Haven before Jay and Tyler become suspicious of how long this "research trip" is lasting, but she has just gotten in a shipment of books and he is helping her carry the boxes from the back room to the shelves up front.

He hefts a particularly heavy crate out to where she stands gazing thoughtfully at the rows of books lining the shop's walls. "Where do you want this one?" he asks, the muscles in his arms protesting the weight.

"Just…Oh, hang on, let me move this." She hastily shifts a pile of books to the side of a long, low table in the center of the room, clearing a space for the crate.

"Take your time," he teases her, lifting one knee to help balance the box.

She sticks her tongue out at him. "There you go, tough guy. I do have a dolly, you know."

As he gratefully deposits the crate onto the table, he answers honestly, "No, I didn't know that, actually."

Her mouth hangs open for a half-second: She looks so surprised. Not to mention incredibly pretty, with her hair in disarray around her shoulders.

Then she laughs. "I'm so sorry!" she cries, reaching out to place a conciliatory hand on his sore shoulder. "I thought I told you…I thought you were just being macho by hauling them all out here yourself."

He is laughing with her, because her laughter is contagious. "I'm not macho," he protests, feigning wounded pride. "I did kind of wonder how you maneuvered all this stuff without me, though."

She wipes her eyes where laughter has caused tears to slip down her cheeks. They are standing toe-to-toe, his back against the crate and her hand on his arm. The atmosphere in the room is suddenly electric as the laughter dies away and her gaze crashes into his.

He starts to turn away. He knows this cannot happen, no matter how often he has dreamed of it, no matter how badly he wants it.

"Will." Her light touch on his hip stops him, brings his eyes back to hers. The look she fixes on him is unmistakable, undeniable. "Kiss me, Will."

So he does. He takes his time: slips his fingers into her hair, cupping her heart-shaped face in his hands, tilting her chin up so he can stare into her lovely eyes as his mouth descends to hers, slowly, oh so slowly – a whisper of a kiss at first, the slightest pressure, deepening as her hands slide up his chest and she presses harder against him, hunger and longing in her kiss…

Will woke with a start in the pre-dawn grayness of the safehouse's basement. The suddenness of his waking left him off-balance: Without Maya in them, his arms felt empty. He touched his lips, feeling her kiss lingering there.

_It was just a dream. Just a beautiful dream…_

Only…It had been more than that. In spite of the gaping hole that seemed to have opened up inside of him as Will realized he would have to live with seeing Maya only in his dreams for the rest of his life, his mind was kicking into action. He recalled every moment of the dream with perfect clarity – not just Maya, but the understanding he had come to while he was with her.

He closed his eyes and winged up a silent prayer. _Thank you, Maya – my guardian angel._

Will knew what they had to do. The solution had come to him during his dream, the solution that had been staring him in the face all along, the solution that had been trying to form in his mind ever since Carlton Fog told them the painting's secrets.

The Fourth Branch members had been willing to do just about anything to protect their identities. Whatever atrocities they were prepared to unleash on the American public, they did not seem to be prepared to suffer the consequences for being caught out as traitors. Being dropped into the black hole of a federal prison – federal death row, in all likelihood – was a possibility no one would welcome. While some of the Branch members were probably dedicated enough to accept this fate if they had to, in his dream it had come to Will that the majority of these people were probably more like Carlton Fog than Jack Freed: Greedy and pampered, they welcomed the wealth and power the Branch afforded them, but they were not committed enough to its ideals to let themselves be martyred. That was why people like Oliver Drummond existed – people who were tasked to ensure that the less-devoted members did not sell out the whole to save their own skins.

If someone were to truly have the evidence Freed had believed the Shears family to have, that person would be in one hell of a position to negotiate just about any sort of deal. Like the public renouncement of terrorism charges against two innocent young men, for instance. Like the guarantee of immunity to a former Hometown agent.

Like an agreement to destroy every ounce of Morbus.

Will was sorting through the files scattered around him as a plan came together in his mind. It would be dangerous; it would be difficult. Those were understatements, really: If digging up dirt on members of the Fourth Branch had been easy, someone else would surely have already enacted Will's plan. But at this point, he and his friends had very few options left and, much as he hated to admit it, very little left to lose.

_We can't run forever. It's time to stand and fight._

_But first, we need a weapon._

The logistics of it would be a nightmare. They would need equipment: wiretaps for phones, long-range photo lenses for taking pictures from a safe distance, closed-circuit cameras and tiny microphones for homes and offices and cars. Not to mention enough monitors and server space to store all of their data. But they could get all of that; he and Kate both had contacts who could set them up in a day with everything they would need. And thanks to Jay and Tyler's reconnaissance at Buchanan's country estate, they had enough names to begin a full-scale, widespread investigation into a significant number of high-ranking Branch members.

_We could do this. We could really do this._

What they would be doing, quite simply, was building what Freed had tried to desperately to destroy: a mountain of evidence that could effectively shut down the Fourth Branch. It would take time – weeks, certainly, to get what they needed for the time being. Years, if they wanted to take the organization down for good. But Will guessed that with what they already knew, with his and Kate's and Marlow's and Franklin's insider knowledge, they could compile a fairly damning array of proof in as little as a month. With a little luck, that would be in time to stop the biological attack the Branch was planning.

The worst part would mean splitting up so they could work faster. It would put them all in a great deal of danger; Will couldn't deny that each time they had split up, things had quickly gone from bad to worse. He knew his friends were aware of that fact, too. Yet somehow, Will knew they would embrace his plan – this time, not because he would have to sell it to them, but because it was the right thing to do.

It was time, Will decided, to stop hiding.

It was time for the Fourth Branch to find out that they had created their own worst enemy.

_(Special thanks to Song, for being one of the coolest reviewers in the history of FanFiction reviewers and for keeping me honest about characterization and plot. I love all my readers, but Song deserves a special nod.) _


	8. Chapter 8

**Episode 8:**

"**The Fourth Branch"**

_One month later – 6 weeks since Drexler bombing_

**Part 1**

As it turned out, Will and Kate weren't the only super-spies in their group. When Will had suggested that they divide up the surveillance of the Fourth Branch members they suspected were most involved with the Drexler plot and the bioterrorism plans, he had hoped that Jay, Kim, Tyler and Liz would be able to install a few wiretaps and snap a few photographs without getting caught. But as their daily reports came in across a secure website one of Kate's contacts in the casino business had arranged, Will was consistently impressed – and a little humbled – by how remarkably well his friends had adapted to the world of espionage.

He doubted he could have done half as well as they were doing without his extensive training.

Tyler and Liz had headed to Philadelphia, where Maxwell Abrams, the founder and CEO of the "crisis management" firm Fallbrook Dunn, resided. After tapping his office phone and cell phone, bugging his car and office, and hacking into his bank account records, the two lovebirds had been able to gather enough evidence to definitively prove Fallbrook Dunn's involvement in a half-dozen blackmailings and two murders. One of those was the murder of John Ellington, for which Tyler and Jay were suspects.

Tyler's knowledge of insider-trading had also continued to prove useful as Marlow and Stone followed up leads on Holloway Insurance and the Drexler bombing from D.C. Marlow was in hiding; she spent her days, she complained to Kate on the phone, confined to Stone's apartment, which was posh but certainly not as exciting as the fieldwork to which she was accustomed. Stone was still working at the NSA. He had kept his involvement with Marlow and the Drexler suspects secret because having access to the NSA database and other official channels could certainly prove helpful to their cause in the coming weeks. Between the two of them, Marlow and Stone had amassed quite a case for Jay and Tyler's innocence.

That case would be enhanced greatly when combined with the evidence about Project Hometown Jay and Kim had been able to gather. Tyrese Franklin had given Marlow the names of several First Recon members who were still actively overseeing Hometown agents, many of whom still believed themselves to be working for the FBI. At the top of that list was Oliver Drummond, the former head of security for Carlton Fog and, until five weeks ago, Vivian Buchanan. Jay and Kim were currently in St. Louis, where Drummond had recently been re-assigned as the head of security for Ronald Darby, co-owner of the largest nuclear energy company in the United States.

Will didn't like to think what Darby might be asked to do that would require Drummond to watch over him.

Jay and Kim had followed much the same protocol with Drummond that Tyler and Liz had followed with Abrams: tapping phones and cell phones, bugging cars and offices, hacking into bank account records. From all of that, they had been able to gather a lot of damning evidence about the use of Hometown agents, who had ostensibly been trained by the FBI and who had taken direct orders from Jack Freed, to illegally spy on American citizens.

Their next plan, Jay had told Will on the phone the day before, was to copy the hard-drive of Drummond's laptop, if they could manage to steal it from the trunk of his Mercedes where he often left it while he was out playing golf. They were hoping the laptop would have some information about Will's mission, the Drexler bombing, or Belenus Pharmaceuticals – or, ideally, all three.

Kate and Will had pooled their resources and contact lists to help their friends find safe havens and equipment in their respective cities. But the lion's share of the credit for the ammunition they now had against the Fourth Branch went directly to Jay, Kim, Tyler and Liz. They had taken a lot of risks to get as much information as they now had.

Will could only hope it would be enough for what they needed.

For his part, Will had asked Kate to accompany him to Miami for what was arguably the most dangerous mission: tailing Vivian Buchanan as they tried to learn more about Morbus. Their task was so perilous because they knew the Fourth Branch would be watching Buchanan and the Belenus Pharmaceuticals lab in Miami very closely as the time to put the bioterrorism plot into action drew near.

Kate and Will had established a command center in a rental house on the beach, far enough away from the tourist traps to be private but close enough to the city to allow them easy access to Buchanan's comings and goings. In a month's time, they had managed to tap Buchanan's home, office and cell phones; to hack into her company's research records and bank accounts, as well as her personal financial records; to bug her three cars and her mansion, though not her heavily-guarded offices. The Buchanans were frustratingly secretive, almost as if they expected someone to be listening in, yet their caution notwithstanding, Will and Kate had managed to compile enough evidence of their involvement with creating biological weapons to send Vivian and Ted both to the gas chamber.

Miami was not Will's favorite city – it was hot, loud and garish. Worrying each day if his friends would be captured or killed did not improve his outlook on life. Spending day in and day out with Kate only added to the strain he felt: Ever since they had left her safehouse in Pennsylvania, things had been tense and awkward between them. They barely spoke except to discuss their mission or to update one another on how their comrades were progressing. In four weeks, Will had not held a single conversation with Kate that did not involve the Fourth Branch and only the Fourth Branch. They ate their meals in silence; worked at their separate computers in the living room in silence, Kate at the computer desk and Will on the couch; rode in silence in the black Porsche Kate had purchased (a very common car in Miami) as they drove back and forth between Buchanan's mansion, Belenus Pharmaceuticals, and their own headquarters.

At night, Kate slept in the only bedroom with the door shut and locked. Will slept on the couch.

As the end of July neared, Will was relieved that their mission seemed to be drawing to a close. He knew they couldn't wait much longer to spring their trap or they might be too late to stop the Branch from unleashing Morbus on an unsuspecting public. He also didn't know how much more time alone with a cold-as-ice Kate he could take before his temper snapped and he started a fight he knew he did not really want to have.

Summer in Miami was punishingly hot. To escape the worst of the heat, Will had fallen into the habit of going for a pre-dawn run on the beach bordering their rented cottage. On the last Saturday in July, he held to this custom, but was surprised to find Kate up and seated at her computer with a steaming mug of coffee when he stepped, panting, into the kitchen.

"Something wrong?" he asked, using a papertowel to mop sweat off his face. Although it was barely five-thirty in the morning, the day was already broiling.

"Couldn't sleep." As usual, Kate's words were clipped. She hardly glanced his way. "You never told me you go for a run in the mornings."

_Well, since we don't actually speak to one another, there are a lot of things I don't tell you._

Will swallowed that comment along with a long, cold swig of water from the refrigerator. When he felt that he had his temper under control, he said simply, "I apologize. I should have let you know where I was."

Kate didn't answer. Will felt like stomping down the hall but didn't – he didn't go in for juvenile outbursts. Still, when he had warned Kate to leave off whatever feelings she had for him, he hadn't expected her to be so…infuriatingly apathetic toward him. He hadn't realized just how much he liked being adored until he wasn't anymore.

_Your ego is the least of your concerns right now, so keep it together and act like an adult._

Will took his own advice and cooled off mentally as well as physically in the shower. By the time he joined Kate in the kitchen, he was feeling more in control.

Until he noticed she hadn't made enough coffee for him to have a cup.

Glaring at the back of her head as he made a new pot, Will asked pointedly, "Would you like more coffee?"

He knew she was smirking at the computer screen even though he couldn't see her face. "No thanks. One cup's plenty for me."

They sat in silence while the coffee made. Once Will poured a cup and headed for his usual spot on the couch, however, Kate turned to him and announced, "I think we have enough evidence to move against the Branch. I don't think we'll gain anything by delaying any longer."

Wondering if Kate had new intel or if she was just ready to be as far away from him as possible, Will asked, "Anything happen I should know about, or is this something you've been thinking about for a while?"

"Jay and Kim are going for Drummond's laptop this afternoon. I just read his report from last night," Kate responded, shifting aside so Will could read what was on her computer screen. He crossed to the desk and leaned slightly over her to read:

_Going in for the laptop this afternoon. Just have to know if he's got anything on there we can't live without. After this I think we've done all we can. Please advise. _

_P.S. – K. says love to you both. I think she's over the flu._

"He's right, they've gotten all of the information we could expect them to," Kate persisted as Will stood back. She looked to be spoiling for a fight. "And Tyler and Liz have more than enough evidence to put every employee at Fallbrook Dunn in prison for life. Marlow and Stone have put enough pieces of the puzzle together to make any jury see reasonable doubt about Jay and Tyler's guilt. We're ready for this, Will."

He started a little when she called him by name: She hadn't, he had noticed, since leaving Pennsylvania. He had wondered if it was conscious on her part. The blush that crept up her cheeks told him it probably had been.

"If we call the Branch out and they're not impressed by what we've got, we're all dead," Will reminded her, glossing over her discomfiture. They had more important concerns than their relationship (or lack thereof) at the moment. "We've got one shot to get this right, Kate. You've worked with these people for a long time and I respect your opinion here, but I have to say, I just don't know if it's enough."

Kate seemed to know exactly where his thoughts were headed: They'd had this conversation before on several occasions.

"You still think we need a sample of Morbus."

Her tone told him that she still disagreed with him. Leaning his hip against the desk, Will made his case once more, unable to keep all traces of annoyance at her continued resistance out of his voice.

"Yeah, I do. We're spinning a pretty fanciful tale here, Kate. If the Branch has anything going for them, it's these crackpot conspiracy theorists who've made the kind of story we're threatening to tell seem completely ridiculous. I'd like to have some hard evidence for what we're accusing these very powerful people of – evidence that can't be faked, like audio recordings and photographs and even bank records can. Without that, I'm not sure how much of a threat the Branch will see us as."

"Okay." Kate folded her arms across her chest and gazed coolly up at him from her chair. "So let me get in touch with my contact inside Belenus Pharmaceuticals and have her bring us out a sample."

Once again, Will bristled at Kate's suggestion of reaching out to a contact. He trusted Kate; whatever doubts he might have harbored about her loyalties had been dispelled as he watched her risk her life and her freedom time and time again to do what she had promised to do – help him, Jay and Tyler defeat the Fourth Branch. But bringing in a third party was always a gamble. Will had seen agents burned by their contacts and informants before. In point of fact, not so many weeks ago he had been burned by his supplier, Jimmy, who had told him where to find Alex and then tipped her off that Will was coming. With everything they had to lose, Will couldn't get comfortable with the idea of trusting someone he didn't even know.

But, as Kate had pointed out each time they circled this problem, getting inside Belenus Pharmaceuticals to steal a sample of the bioweapon themselves would be next to impossible. Especially since security had increased almost five-fold in the past week, telling them both that time was running out – the Branch was preparing to make its move. Every eye they could spare would be on their stores of Morbus. Even superior operatives like Kate and Will would be hard-pressed to come within shouting distance of it.

Grudgingly, Will for the first time pressed for more information regarding Kate's plan. "Tell me about this contact."

Kate showed no surprise that he was finally taking her idea seriously. In fact, her expression suggested, to Will's annoyance, that she had known all along he would come around.

"She's one of the top research scientists with Belenus Pharmaceuticals, and a close associate of Vivian Buchanan."

_Sounds like somebody we ought to trust with our lives – if we want to die._

"How do you know her?"

Kate looked decidedly uncomfortable. Shifting her gaze to the computer screen, she answered tightly, "Her name is Breanna Murden."

_Murden… _Now, where had Will heard that name before?

_Murden. Paul Murden. The man you killed in the Drexler. _

And, if memory served, the right-hand man of Jack Freed's that Kate had gotten involved with in order to get more access to the Fourth Branch. Will didn't blame her for being embarrassed. He just wished she could realize that he understood the sorts of things that had to be done to complete a mission, and he didn't judge her for them.

Her contact, however, sounded to Will like the worst possible person to trust with an operation as vital as the one he was proposing. "Let me get this straight," he said slowly, wondering if he had perhaps over-estimated Kate's abilities. "You want to ask a good friend of Vivian Buchanan's and the – what, sister? wife? – of the man I killed in the Drexler to help us prove that Belenus Pharmaceuticals is manufacturing biological weapons."

"First of all, I didn't say that Breanna was a friend of Vivian's. I said she was an associate." Kate had obviously picked up on Will's low opinion of her plan; the look she fixed him with could have frozen water, and her voice was equally cold. "As a matter of fact, Breanna loathes Vivian, because Breanna was madly in love with Ted Buchanan when they were all at prep school together and Vivian stole him from her.

"Secondly, Breanna doesn't know that you killed her brother. She knows that he was helping Freed blow up the Drexler and she thinks he died in the explosion, because that's what I told her."

"How can you be so sure that someone inside the Branch hasn't told her what really happened? How can you be certain that she doesn't know you're working with me and that I'm responsible for her brother's death?"

Exasperated, Kate threw up her hands. "You're right, Will, I can't know anything for certain. All I can tell you is that for a number of years now Breanna Murden has seen me as good as a sister-in-law, and she has never, ever questioned that I loved her brother. I have no reason to believe that she is high enough up on the food chain for anyone inside the Branch to tell her anything about you or me or the Drexler bombing. So far as I know – and it's not like I haven't checked into it – Breanna is still a viable contact, and she could and would get a sample of Morbus for me if I asked her to."

A weighty silence descended between them in which Will privately acknowledged that he probably should have given Kate more credit than to think she would trust someone blindly. He would have apologized, except the weeks of being treated with icy disdain had scraped his pride so raw he couldn't quite bring himself to.

_I don't see how we have a choice here. We either finish this mission or we're going to end up shooting one another, I can see that coming._

"Fine." Although the biggest part of Will protested that this was a bad plan, he resigned himself to the fact that, for one thing, he would not confront the Branch with anything less than the most damning evidence possible and, for another, they had run out of time to figure out another way to secure the sample. "Call your contact and arrange the meet."

"Fine." Her expression giving no clue as to her feelings, Kate swiveled around to her computer and began typing rapidly.

For the rest of the day, Will set about the surprisingly arduous task of preparing to leave what had been their headquarters for a month. He had already downloaded and backed up (twice) every piece of evidence Jay, Tyler and Marlow had sent to them, as well as everything he and Kate had managed to discover. Before confronting the Branch, Will intended to hide the originals of everything he had in a location only he would know – a sort of insurance policy, a way of keeping the Branch honest in their dealings.

Will knew he could trust the others with the location of the evidence. The fact of the matter was, however, he wanted to be the one responsible for that knowledge because that would put everyone else in less danger. And, to be perfectly honest, if anyone was going to be tortured for information, listening to Maya's final moments had convinced Will he would much rather be on the receiving end than hear one of his friends in pain.

By nightfall, Kate informed him that they were set up to meet with Breanna Murden the next morning at a small café a few miles outside of the city. Will sent off messages to Jay and Tyler instructing them to pack up and head back to the Pennsylvania safehouse; Kate phoned Marlow to let her know they would be leaving Miami in the morning and would be in touch soon.

Around nine, Will was just getting ready to stretch out on the couch when Kate, who usually took a shower and then disappeared with her laptop into her room around eight, not to appear again until morning, surprised him by strolling through the living room into the kitchen. She had already showered: Her honey-colored hair, streaked golden-blonde by the Florida sun, was wet, and she was wearing a pair of black yoga pants and a baggy Indianapolis Colts tee-shirt that he assumed served as her pajamas. He listened to her taking glasses out of the cabinet for a minute before his curiosity got the better of him and he walked into the kitchen.

Kate was pouring a glass of red wine from a bottle of merlot he hadn't known was in the house. "Sorry to disturb you," she said primly over her shoulder. "I'll be out of here in a sec."

"You weren't disturbing me." Will took a seat on one of the high-backed stools at the bar separating the kitchen from the living room. "Mind if I join you?"

Wordlessly, Kate took a second goblet from the cabinet, poured Will a generous glass of wine and placed it in front of him. He half-expected her to walk right on past him; instead, she stood with her back against the counter by the stove, facing him but staring at the tile floor.

The silence seemed filled with all of the things they hadn't said to one another over the past month – the compliments for excellent work as well as the bitter, resentful, hateful remarks he knew they had wanted to throw at one another when they were both stressed to the breaking point. Will sipped his wine, wishing it were a shot of something much stronger.

_We shouldn't be enemies. We have a lot of work left to do together._

Well, what the hell – he had nothing to lose by extending the olive branch. As casually as he could, he inquired, "So, given any thought to what you're gonna do when this is all over?"

Kate arched an eyebrow at him. "You're assuming we're going to survive this, then."

Will shrugged. "I'm an optimist."

He thought he caught a hint of a smile on her face, though she quashed it quickly. He decided to press his luck and suggested, a little wryly, "You could head back to Vegas. I hear some billionaires there aren't very good at hiding their tells."

The smile twitched into sight again for a moment as he saw Kate recall her comment about Sin City during his supposed interrogation. "Vegas is definitely not high on my list of places to visit again," she answered.

After a thoughtful silence, she admitted, "Anyway, I'm not sure I can walk away from this."

Will's heart lurched in his chest. _This is what comes of trying to be a nice guy, you idiot – you're supposed to be making her loathe you, remember, not flirting with her…_

Kate's cheeks turned scarlet as she saw how he had interpreted her comment. "I meant – I didn't mean 'this,'" she gestured at the space separating the two of them, "I meant taking down the Branch."

"I knew what you meant," Will lied. The last thing he wanted was to seem like an egotistical bastard who would assume no woman could walk away from him.

Looking skeptical, Kate nevertheless let his words stand. "I just keep thinking, what we have is good for what we need it for – I really think we can make the Branch deal with us, keep them from using Morbus and force them to exonerate Jay and Tyler. But there's a lot more to this than what we've been able to find in a month. And I can't help thinking that just because we stop them right now doesn't mean they won't do something even worse in the future. I don't know if I can save myself when I could stick around and make sure that doesn't happen."

Will couldn't deny that he respected Kate's dedication. He wasn't sure at all that he shared it, though; serving God and country, and all the other patriotic beliefs that had drawn him into Hometown, seemed to him now like a double-edged sword. Even if he wanted to protect innocent people – and Will liked to think that he did, or he would already have high-tailed it to a tropical island and left his friends to sort their own lives out – he didn't see how he could ever work for any governmental agency to do so. He would never be able to trust anyone affiliated with those agencies, he was sure of it.

He said as much to Kate, matching her honesty with his own. She didn't argue with him. Rather, she admitted, "I don't know if I could go back to the CIA. But there are other ways to fight people like Freed. I mean, look what we're doing right now, on our own."

"You're thinking about starting your own organization," Will realized.

Polishing off her wine, Kate shrugged, as if hesitant to own up to such a grand plan. "There have to be other people out there like us, people who have been burned by the Branch and who want revenge. I know how to train agents. I know how to plan and carry out ops. I guess maybe I have thought about something like that."

Will considered her for a moment. She looked lonely and uncertain, tucking her hair behind her ears and swirling the dregs of wine in her glass. He knew how frightening it was to open up to someone, to share hopes and dreams that could easily be laughed off. He had felt that way most of his life, even before joining Hometown.

On impulse, Will spoke from his heart. "I'm sure you could carry it off if anyone could, Kaitlyn. In fact, I bet you could do anything you put your mind to."

He wondered for a second, as her gaze crashed into his, if he had gone too far, if he had given her false reason to hope that someday he might be more to her than just a mission she had been assigned. His worry seemed to be for nothing, however, because Kate had apparently taken her emotions well in-hand: The smile she gave him was friendly but not tender.

The air between them seemed to have cleared a bit. Will was glad for it; the past month had been nigh unbearable. Nervtheless, he didn't want to push his luck by continuing what was fast becoming an intimate late-night conversation. So, draining the last drop of wine from his glass, he stood, walked to the sink to deposit the empty goblet, and offered Kate a good-night smile in passing.

She smiled back. "See you in the morning, then?"

"Bright and early."

He paused in stretching out on the sofa to glance back at her, wondering with a sudden stab of fear if the morning would bring redemption or damnation. He saw the same concern reflected in Kate's eyes.

Neither of them gave voice to those thoughts, however, as if to put them into words would act as a kind of curse. Will said only, "Sweet dreams, Kate," before switching off the lamp and plunging them into darkness.

**Part 2**

Jay had never put much stock in the old saying "what we learn will always serve us," but when he found himself applying skills from his misspent youth in to taking down the Fourth Branch, he had to wonder if the cliché had some truth to it after all. When he had headed off to Temple University for college and then Yale for law school, he had assumed that he had left breaking-and-entering scenarios far behind him. Yet those skills kept coming in handy as he and Kim ran down Oliver Drummond's many secrets.

On what would, according to an email from Kate the night before, be their last day in St. Louis, Jay drove their nondescript white Chevrolet (purchased by Kim under an assumed name three weeks earlier) to the members-only golf course where Oliver Drummond played eighteen holes every afternoon. Kim rode alongside him, strangely quiet and preoccupied.

"You know, this isn't the most dangerous thing we've done," Jay observed, taking her silence to mean that she was worried. "Drummond's car is parked in broad daylight, so it's not like he's going to have somebody come shoot me, even if he spots us. And if he does see us, we'll have plenty of time to get away. You've driven the streets around here for weeks now – you know the best escape routes."

"I know, Jay." Kim offered him a brave smile. "I was just…thinking."

"About what?"

Kim shrugged. Jay couldn't help noticing that for the past month, she had been somewhat withdrawn; he had chalked it up to stress and anxiety, completely understandable emotions given their perilous circumstances. Yet for the last two days, Kim had been even more reserved and evasive. He was starting to wonder if life on the run was more than she had bargained for. Was she wishing she had taken Will up on his offer to send her into hiding?

_I can't blame her if she is. And when we get back to Kate's safehouse, if that's what she wants, I'll see to it that she can get to safety while I sort out this mess._

Jay only hoped that once he managed to do that – _if _he managed to do that – Kim would still want to be with him. He was trying not to second-guess her feelings, but it was difficult not to feel insecure about their future when he was a hunted fugitive.

Breaking the rather uncomfortable silence that had fallen, Kim held up the small pouch of tools Jay would be using to pop open Drummond's trunk. "How is that you know how to use all of this stuff anyway?"

Jay had hoped to side-step this question. However, he answered her honestly, if sheepishly, "Hey, I was a Marine brat. Kids on military bases get into all sorts of trouble. And then when I was thirteen, we moved to this little swanky neighborhood in Long Beach. I thought I was big and bad because my dad was a Marine, so I joined this little street gang on my block."

Kim giggled. "A street gang? As in, drugs and hookers?"

"No, more like vandalizing swing-sets in the local park and stealing gradeschoolers' lunch money," Jay admitted. Kim laughed some more; the sound warmed him. He hadn't heard her laugh much lately.

"And this little street gang taught you how to break into cars?"

Jay nodded, remembering long summer nights spent prowling the streets of suburbia with a handful of other greasy-haired kids in baggy pants. "Yeah, there was this one kid – God, what was his name? I can't even remember now. It was like 'Falcon' or something ridiculous like that." Kim giggled; Jay chuckled too. "Anyway, his dad had been in prison, and he knew a lot about breaking and entering. I thought he was the coolest person on the planet, so I copied everything he did."

"Wait until I tell Tyler and Will. Here we were, all thinking you were such a Boy Scout," Kim teased him. "Good thing the Bar Association doesn't know how you spent your childhood. I doubt they'd let a hardened criminal like you become a lawyer."

"Yeah, well, I think my current criminal record might worry them a little bit more. We were smart enough not to get caught when we were kids, at least."

"Spoken like a true lawyer: Who cares if it's right or wrong, just don't get caught."

They laughed together as Jay pulled into the parking lot of the golf course and parked way, way in the back near the service vehicles. He knew where Drummond's reserved spot was; he knew that, since it was one-twenty-six, Drummond would just be heading onto the green with an ice-cold beer and a caddy to carry his clubs and fetch refills. They would have plenty of time to sneak the laptop out of his car, copy the hard drive, and return it – hopefully without Drummond ever knowing it had been moved.

"Okay, here's your B-and-E kit."

All business, Kim handed Jay the small lock-picking kit, provided courtesy of one of Will's local suppliers. Next, she slipped him an earpiece and had him test it to be sure they could hear one another; while he stole the laptop, Kim would be in their car using the long-range telephoto lens to keep an eye out for security guards or, God forbid, Drummond himself.

After ensuring that they were able to communicate, she produced what looked like a slim black cell phone from her purse and handed it over to him. "I hope this thing works," Jay muttered, eyeing the device uncertainly.

Will had arranged for a supplier to "drop" (which, Jay had learned, merely involved a supplier leaving a package for him at a pre-arranged point) the device Jay was now holding at a storage locker inside the St. Louis Amtrak station the night before. According to Will, the device would be able to copy Drummond's hard drive in minutes once it was plugged into his laptop's USB port. If everything went as planned, Jay and Kim would be in and out within ten minutes of Jay approaching Drummond's car.

Which he now prepared to do. Leaning across the seat, Jay pressed a loving kiss to Kim's lips. She held onto him for a moment before letting go.

"Be careful," she whispered.

"I will be," Jay promised.

Breaking into the trunk of Drummond's Mercedes proved to be a piece of cake. Crouching by the back bumper, Jay slipped a slender file into the key-hole and twisted; the lock gave immediately, so smoothly that the luxury car's state-of-the-art alarm system did not detect that anything besides its own key had been used to unlock it. Once Kim confirmed that the coast was clear, Jay reached into the trunk, snatched the leather briefcase out, pulled the trunk down so it wasn't quite closed (no need to pick the lock twice if he could help it), and crawled belly-first under Drummond's car, where he was hidden from curious onlookers. And security guards.

"Okay, I'm turning the laptop on now," Jay reported to Kim. He was sweating profusely. Not only was he scared to death that at any moment Drummond might appear, it was also at least ninety degrees beneath the Mercedes, and the pavement he was lying chest-down on was hot enough to scorch his skin. "And now I'm plugging in this little whatchamacallit…Cross your fingers…"

"Fingers crossed," Kim dutifully reported.

Jay grinned. Over the past month, they'd learned to laugh at their situation – otherwise, they probably would have lost their minds.

To Jay's immense relief, a button on the side of the device flashed green, as Will said it would do once it connected with Drummond's hard drive. A progress bar appeared on the laptop's screen to inform Jay that the hard drive would finish downloading in three minutes. He relayed this news to Kim, who blew out an audible sigh of relief.

"Jay? Now that we've got a sec, could I ask you something?"

Her voice sounded weirdly intimate in his ear, like she was beside him in bed whispering. Scooting closer to the edge of the car where he could catch some of the breeze, Jay answered, "Go for it, baby."

"What do you think about the name Riley?"

Her question threw Jay for a loop until he realized what she must have been thinking. "Picking out aliases, huh?" he laughed.

"Mmmm…Something like that, yeah."

Jay considered the name. Riley. Could he go through life being called 'Riley'? "I'm kind of a more traditional guy when it comes to names. You know. Like, uh, Matthew."

"Matthew." Kim tested out the name. "What about, Matthew Riley?"

"Riley as a last name or middle name?"

"Middle name," she clarified.

Matthew Riley. Jay shrugged: He could live with that. "It's got a nice ring to it, I suppose."

"Okay. How about the name Collista?"

Jay quickly checked the progress of the download – 54 and still going strong, he noted with relief as he mopped sweat off his brow with the hem of his tee-shirt. He tried to imagine calling Kim 'Collista' for the rest of their lives.

"It's pretty," he admitted. "Hey, wait, wasn't that your grandmother's name?"

"Yes, my dad's mom. I was thinking Collista Bethany, after both of my grandmothers."

The device beeped, indicating that its download was complete. More than ready to be out from under the sweltering undercarriage, Jay told Kim, "Hold that thought," while he unplugged the device, slipped it carefully into the pocket of his jeans, and returned the laptop to Drummond's briefcase.

"All clear?" he asked Kim, belly-crawling toward the trunk.

"Well, there's a guy a couple of rows away from you, looks like a valet or something," Kim answered. Jay hesitated: He was about to suffocate, yet he didn't want to risk blowing the operation. "But I don't think he'll see you if you stay close to the ground. He's not really looking around or anything anyway."

Deciding to risk it, Jay crawled out from under the car and lifted the trunk just enough to slip the briefcase back inside. As he did so, he quietly resumed their conversation, saying, "You know, honey, I don't think we'll have to worry about aliases, really. Will seems pretty certain this is going to work, that Tyler and I will have our names cleared by the Branch. And, even though I never thought I'd say this six weeks ago, I trust Will. If he says it'll work, I think it'll work."

"Well…" Kim's voice sounded tight and nervous. Jay carefully closed the trunk and started to rise from his crouched position, knees aching from bending down so long.

"I wasn't actually thinking about aliases, Jay. I was thinking about what to name the babies."

Jay froze in a half-squat. Had she just said…

_Babies? Why are we talking about – babies…_

_And they were going to let me be a lawyer? How stupid am I? The flu, Burchell? You are such a dumbass!_

The world spun sideways as Jay finally saw what had been staring him in the face for four weeks: Kim's sudden bouts of nausea, her fatigue, her preoccupation, he nervousness. How could he not have put two and two together and figured out that she was pregnant?

"Jay?" Kim sounded slightly panicked. "Jay, are you okay?"

"I…" Jay shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts enough so that he could answer her. He wasn't sure if it was the shock or the heat, but he felt dizzy and weak all over. "Yeah, I think so, just…Just give me a minute."

"Jay, that guy – he saw you." Kim was definitely panicked now. "You have to move. He's heading for you."

Her words jerked Jay into action. He stood fully up-right and glanced casually over his shoulder: Sure enough, a young, muscular man in a royal-blue jacket emblazoned with the club's insignia was hurrying his way, frowning and holding a walkie-talkie in a way that suggested he was ready to call for back-up.

_Just start walking. Just get moving._

Trying to act nonchalant, Jay slipped the pouch containing his lock-picking tools into the waistband of his jeans as he turned back toward the car where Kim waited. He could see her through the windshield; although she was too far away for him to make out her expression, he knew she had to be scared to death. He certainly was.

"Hey!" The man, whom Jay assumed was either a valet or a security guard, called out. "Hey, wait a minute, sir."

Jay toyed with the idea of pretending not to hear the man, but he ultimately concluded that if he seemed to be running away (which he would have been), the valet would definitely know something was up. So he stopped, turning with an expression of polite surprise, and smiled amicably at the young man.

"Yeah?" he asked calmly. "Something wrong?"

Even as he asked it, Jay became aware that his shirt was damp from sweat and stained with grease and oil from lying under the car; his jeans were filthy, too. He had sweat so profusely his dark curls were plastered to his head. He probably looked like the textbook version of a hoodlum – certainly not someone who belonged in the parking lot of an elite gentleman's club.

"What's your business here, sir? This is a private club."

The man was younger than Jay had originally thought, no more than twenty at most. He also looked nervous. Since he wasn't carrying any sort of weapon, Jay determined that he was most likely a valet – just a kid working his way through college, in all likelihood, not a bad-ass solider-type looking for a fight.

Jay considered his options and decided that he had a fairly decent shot of talking this kid down, if he just kept his cool and improvised.

Hoisting a sheepish grin into place, Jay answered, "I know, man, I know. Look, you see that car over there?" He pointed toward the Chevrolet where Kim sat. The valet nodded. "That's my best friend's sister, man. Last night she, uh, well she sort of hooked up with this older guy, some dude named Drummond, at the bar where she works. She said he turned out to be a real freak-show, so she told him to get lost. He didn't take it very well – got a little rough with her, I guess. But she got out of the car. And then this morning she realized she'd dropped her phone in his Benz."

As proof, Jay took the cell-phone looking device out of his pocket and held it up for the valet to see. He pressed on, "Anyway, she was afraid this guy might use the phone to find out where she lived and all that, so I, uh, I offered to come get it for her."

_That is probably the lamest story ever told. _

Jay held his breath while he waited for the valet's response. If the young man started to call for back-up, Jay realized, he would have no choice but to hit him – and, given how muscular he was, Jay had a feeling the guy would hit back, and hard. Maybe it would be better to simply run for it if he didn't buy the story –

"So you broke into Mr. Drummond's car?"

Stomach sinking, Jay tried to keep a tremor out of his voice. "Just for the phone, man, I swear it. You can check if you want to. I didn't do anything to the car."

_And then I'm going to hit you over the head as soon as your back's turned, kid…_

The valet looked torn between doing his job and letting a guy who probably reminded him very much of himself off the hook. Finally, just when Jay thought he couldn't stand the suspense a moment longer, the young man's face broke into a smile.

"Some of these guys are such assholes," he commiserated, raising a hand to Kim, whom, having heard the whole conversation through Jay's earpiece, waved back. "Tell your friend to be more careful who she goes home with, okay?"

"You're a life-saver, my friend." Jay shook the young man's hand, feeling more like hugging him, his relief was so great. "Thanks. Really, man, thanks."

"No problem. But don't let me catch you around here again, all right?"

"You got it."

The valet watched to be sure Jay headed straight back to his own car, which he did, only barely containing the urge to break into a run. Kim pushed the door open for him and Jay slid behind the wheel. They both waved to the valet as they pulled out of the parking lot.

Neither of them spoke until they were three blocks away. Then, heart pounding and mind racing, Jay suddenly turned off into a public parking garage, drove to the third level, pulled into a space and killed the engine.

_That was close. So very, very close. We could have been toast…_

_I can't be that careless again. I can't get caught or killed – I'm going to be a father!_

When he turned to look at Kim, Jay was startled to find tears streaming down her face. "Hey," he cried, reaching for her and cradling her close to his chest as her shoulders heaved with sobs. "Hey, baby, it's okay, it's okay, we got out of there. Shh."

"I'm so sorry!" Kim sobbed into his shoulder. "It was so stupid of me to distract you like that. I just – I've tried, Jay, I've tried telling you for a week now and I couldn't…I thought, if you weren't looking at me when I said it, but…It was so stupid, I could have gotten you killed!"

Jay took her by the shoulders and leaned her back far enough that he could feather kisses all over her tear-stained cheeks. After a moment, Kim gave a watery laugh, and tears stopped spilling from her eyes.

He let her sit back in her seat but kept a firm hold on her hand. "Sweetie," he asked gently, "why would you be afraid to tell me you're pregnant?"

Kim stared at their linked fingers. "I-I thought you'd be upset. Not with me, just, you know, in general."

"Kim, I love you. I'll admit, the timing could be better," Jay grinned at his own extreme understatement, "but that doesn't change the fact that I love you and I will love our baby."

Lips trembling, Kim raised her eyes to his, searching his gaze for the truth. "Do you really mean that, Jay? You're not just saying it because it's the right thing to say and you're such a good man you couldn't not say the right thing to me in this situation?"

Jay couldn't help laughing at her characterization of him. "I promise you, Kim Doherty, I mean every word: I love you, I absolutely and utterly adore you, and I feel the same way about our baby."

"Babies."

_Well, naturally…_

Jay knew he should have been upset. Any normal, rational person who was on the run for his life from a sinister shadow-government, who was accused of two horrible acts of terrorism and on top of that one brutal murder, would not be excited by the revelation that he was about to become a father. All of that aside, a normal person who had just graduated from law school with a couple hundred thousand dollars in student loans to pay off and no job lined up would not be thrilled to find out he was becoming a parent. But Jay was. He was happy and excited and proud – and a little cocky over the fact that he hadn't just gotten Kim pregnant, he'd gotten her pregnant with _twins. _He knew it was ridiculously macho, but there it was.

Unable to keep an ear-to-ear grin off his face, Jay pressed for details: "How far along are you? Are we having boys or girls? It is just twins, right, we're not talking triplets or sextuplets or something?"

Kim was shaking her head in happy amazement at his reaction. "Well, I am about eight weeks along, which means this must have happened while I was trying one last time to persuade you not to go on your little roadtrip."

Jay clearly recalled that evening. It had started on the Castle's couch, with Kim promising him that she wasn't going anywhere, that her new job in the city didn't change anything between them, that when he got back she would be waiting for him. She had definitely pulled out all the stops in trying to convince him to spend the summer with her in New York instead of heading off into the wild blue yonder with Tyler and Will.

If only he had listened…

"I don't know if we're having boys or girls, because it's too early to tell," Kim continued. "And, according to the ultrasound, we are having twins, not triplets or sextuplets, and they look very healthy."

"Wait a sec," Jay protested. "When did you have an ultrasound?"

"Four days ago. Remember when I said I was going to go see if I could get some shots of Drummond and Darby together?" Jay nodded. Kim confessed, "I was really going to see this doctor that Kate knows here in the city. Don't worry, the lady had no clue who I was – she thought I was Kate's sister. I had a fake ID and everything."

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Are you mad at me? I hated lying, Jay, I just…I just couldn't seem to tell you, not with everything else you've had to worry about."

Jay wasn't angry. In fact, he felt terrible that Kim had been dealing with this on her own for so long. He would have gone with her to the clinic, would have held her hand while they talked to the doctor.

He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them softly. Staring deeply into her eyes, he told her, "Kim, I don't ever want you to feel like you have to keep things from me. No matter what is going on in my life, I love you, and I want to be there for you. And our babies."

They shared a tender smile. _Our babies. _Jay loved how that sounded.

"I thought you'd be so hysterical," Kim admitted, looking embarrassed. "I mean, even before all of this, it's not like we'd planned on having kids anytime soon. And," she added, averting her gaze, "I thought you'd throw a fit and insist I go into hiding."

The thought had occurred to Jay. However, since his last attempt to force her into hiding had nearly resulted in a relationship-ending brawl, he had decided that he had best let Kim decide what was right for her in that respect. He assured her, "I'm not going to insist that you do anything, Kim. I want you and our babies safe, I'm sure you know that. But whether you stay or go has to be your decision. I can't tell you what's right in this situation, because I just don't know."

Kim threw her arms around Jay's neck and kissed him passionately, stealing his breath and for a moment driving out all thought other than how nice it would be to stretch her out across the backseat and celebrate their news properly…

He pressed his fingertips to her stomach and felt her smile against his mouth. "Our babies," he murmured. The idea fascinated him. "Our babies are in there."

"Safe and sound." Kim rested her head on Jay's shoulder. "I promise to keep them that way, Jay. I won't put myself at any unnecessary risk. But I want to stay with you. I don't think I could stand not being with you."

Jay kissed the top of her head. Much as he wanted to go on holding her forever, he knew they had to get going; Kim seemed to know it, too, because she squeezed him once and then sat back in her own seat.

As he put the car in drive, Jay glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He had one more question he wanted to put to her, a question he had wanted to ask her for over a year now but hadn't, because she always said she wanted to wait until their lives were more settled before making a permanent plan for the future.

_Permanent plans don't exist. Life can change in a second – we know that now. _

_So just ask her…_

Taking a deep breath and grasping the steering wheel tightly as he turned out into the midday traffic, Jay asked, "So…What do you say to getting married?"

**Part 3**

"Tyler! Tyler, come out here, quick!"

At Liz's panicked call, Tyler nearly ran over himself getting from their small apartment's one bedroom, where he had been packing clothes for their return to Kate's safehouse, to the living room, where he found her standing behind the sofa staring white-faced at the television.

"What is it?" he demanded, heart in his throat.

"Look." She pointed at the screen with a trembling finger. "They're just starting."

Tyler's gaze flicked to the TV, and his stomach twisted into a painful knot: Gazing coolly into the camera, his left arm still in a sling from Kate's bullet, was Special Agent in Charge Fred Chambers.

_The son of a bitch who murdered my father._

Tyler stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed by rage and a host of other emotions so intense he couldn't even name them.

Chambers addressed the camera and what appeared to be a roomful of reporters. "Good morning," he began gravely.

The sound of his voice jolted Tyler, who clenched his fists so tightly at his sides that his fingernails dug into his palms.

"I have some disturbing news to report to you all this morning. Please understand, it is not my intention to start a panic. But after talking to Governor Howard and Mr. Macy of Homeland Security, we have decided that the public needs to be made aware of the information my office recently received concerning Drexler bombing suspects Jay Burchell and Tyler Fog."

_Still no mention of Will. Keeping a careful lid on that can of worms, aren't we? Slimy motherfucker…_

"I know you all have seen Burchell and Fog's manifesto on the Internet. My office has recently received intelligence that this manifesto was used as a recruiting device. Last night, we were able to confirm that Burchell and Fog were in fact not acting alone in the Drexler bombing or in the murder of Homeland Security Director Jack Freed four weeks ago."

Chambers paused for breath – and effect, Tyler was sure – before letting the hammer fall: "We have learned that Burchell and Fog are the leaders of a domestic terror organization which goes by the name 'The People's Militia.'"

Liz gasped. She spun around to gape at Tyler, asking him with her eyes if he had any idea what this was all about. Tyler was too furious to move or speak; he just stared at the screen, as if he could penetrate space and time with the force of his will and kill Chambers with only his gaze.

"The FBI, NSA and Homeland Security are in the process of tracing anyone who might be involved with this organization. Let me assure you, we are doing everything we can to bring Burchell and Fog to justice and to destroy this terrorist cell they have created in our own country. But the American people need to be aware that these people are out there, and that they are very, very dangerous. I ask anyone who may have information on the whereabouts of Jay Burchell or Tyler Fog, or who may know anything about the People's Militia, to come forward immediately."

Chambers shuffled his notes and cleared his throat. "Um, all right, I guess I'll take a couple of questions now…"

As reporters began shooting their hands into the air and yelling out questions, Liz hit the mute button on the television and walked over to Tyler. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, reaching out to touch his cheek.

Tyler shook his head. Over the past month, he had occasionally been overcome by terrifyingly intense rages: Now was one such moment. Fearful of his own temper, he stepped away from Liz, who looked wounded.

"This is unbelievable," he ranted. He wanted to yell but, mindful of their thin walls, controlled himself. "Now we're supposedly the masterminds behind some terrorist organization? What the fuck are these people playing at, Liz? Isn't it enough to kill our families and ruin our lives and hunt us down like dogs? Now they need us to be some kind of, I don't know, American Osama Bin Laden?"

Liz hugged her arms around her thin body and bit her lower lip. She looked to be on the verge of tears. "I don't know, Tyler, I don't understand it. Unless…"

A horrified realization sparked in her dark eyes. Tyler stopped pacing to give her his full attention: He had a bad feeling he wasn't going to like what was coming next.

"You don't think they know what we're up to, do you? That maybe the Fourth Branch has somehow figured out what we're doing and they're going to try to frame us with our own evidence?"

Tyler ordered himself to calm down enough to seriously consider her suggestion. He supposed it was possible that the Branch might have gotten wind of their activities. Although if that was the case, he reasoned, it would be much more like these shadowy, behind-the-scenes people to track them down and dispose of them quietly rather than to allow them to proceed while creating an elaborate cover-story to deal with the fall-out of the Fourth Branch's existence coming to light. In other words, it would have been much more expedient to silence all of them for good than to fake up a story about a domestic terror organization once they had made their evidence public.

Still, something was definitely up. Something had given the Fourth Branch reason to add this new layer of lies to the Burchell/Fog file. Trying, as he had for a month, to get inside these people's twisted minds, Tyler was surprised by how effortlessly he came to an answer.

"The biological attack," he said simply, looking up at Liz, who was waiting for his response to her idea. "I don't think they know what we're doing, Liz, or they'd just bust in here and shoot us and be done with it. But think about it: If they're going to pin something as major as a bioterrorism attack on Jay and me, they can't very well expect people to believe that we're just two guys acting alone, can they? People aren't that gullible."

Liz was nodding along with him. "You're right. It wouldn't make any sense for two grad students – even someone with your family's connections and Jay's military background – to have access to a biological weapon. You'd need a really sophisticated organization to pull that off."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Tyler's rage slowly bled out of him, leaving him as empty and apathetic as he had felt for a month. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to sustain high emotions (or any emotion at all, for that matter) for more than a few minutes at a time. Mostly, he walked around in a kind of dull haze, eating and drinking and making love and sleeping and carrying out their "mission" with barely enough energy or interest to keep himself breathing. This haze would be penetrated now and again by extreme emotions – a burst of inexplicable fury, a tidal wave of overwhelming grief, an icy breath of terror – yet nothing seemed able to revive him for long.

He felt lost, adrift. And though she had been wonderfully patient and infallibly supportive, Tyler knew Liz was getting sick of his sulkiness and moodiness. He couldn't blame her: He was getting sick of himself.

_So much for happily ever after._

"Do you think the others have seen this?" Liz asked. She had turned the volume on the television back up. Chambers was gone; now, several talking-head news anchors and political pundits were analyzing everything he had said. Along the bottom of the screen, the words _"Breaking News: FBI announces discovery of domestic terror organization; Burchell and Fog suspected leaders; terror level elevated to red (severe)" _scrolled past every few seconds.

When he didn't respond, she went on, "It's just so unfair. How can they justify framing you guys for all of these awful things? And that tape, that stupid tape, it just makes everything so…complicated…"

Ah, the tape. Will's "video blog." Tyler was struck by a sudden memory of the first time Will had introduced his so-called "hobby" to his new roommates…

It had happened about a week after they moved in together. Tyler had been in the kitchen popping the top on a cold Heineken, with which Will kept their refrigerator amply stocked; Jay had been seated at the kitchen table with law books strewn around him, deep in concentration. They had both looked up when Will stepped in the back door with a gorgeous dark-haired girl in tow.

"Hey," Tyler said, glancing at Jay and seeing that he looked as surprised as Tyler felt. Will seemed like a nice enough guy, but Tyler thought he was a little nerdy to score a hot chick like the one trailing behind him. "Who's your friend?"

"Jay, Tyler, this is Nell," Will announced. "Nell, my roommates, Jay Burchell and Tyler Fog."

Smiling prettily, Nell wagged her fingers at Jay and shook the hand Tyler offered. "Fog, huh? As in Carlton Fog's oldest son?"

"I didn't realize I was famous." Tyler smiled back at her, hesitant to turn on the charm full-blast. The cardinal rule of male household harmony, he knew, was _Don't steal your roommate's girlfriend. _"But yup, guilty as charged."

"Nell's helping me with a little project," Will explained to them. He was rummaging in the black backpack he had left beside the couch when he'd headed out to a meeting with one of his engineering professors earlier that afternoon.

"Oh yeah?" Jay looked to Nell. "What's he got you doing, building bombs?"

Nell giggled. "Not exactly. I work with Independent Media. We're going to publish your friend's video blog."

"Video blog?" Tyler echoed, looking at his roommate with renewed interest. "Will, have you been holding out on us?"

Producing an expensive-looking digital video camera from his backpack, Will quipped dryly, "I am a man of many talents, Tyler."

"Not to sound stupid," Jay piped up, "but what is Independent Media, and why is it interested in Will?"

"Careful," Tyler warned Nell. "He'll be drawing up a contract for Will before this is all over."

Nell returned his flirtatious smile. Glancing at Will, Tyler noted the complete lack of jealousy there: Apparently, this was a strictly business relationship. In fact, Tyler thought Nell seemed a little frosty toward Will, as if she wasn't sure quite what to make of him.

"Independent Media is an Internet-based media group I helped start when I was at UC San Diego," she explained to Jay. "I'm working on my MBA here at Yale, but my Bachelor's is in Communications, and I still help manage I.M. We're always on the lookout for new material, so when I saw your friend's blog on YouTube the other day, I called him up. It's good stuff, you should check it out. A real insider's perspective into what it means to be a grad student in the Ivy League. Most of our viewers are college-age, so I think they'll really appreciate it."

"Well, I think I need to feature prominently in this thing," Tyler joked. "What could possibly be more interesting than chronicling my life and times at Yale?"

"Actually," Will spoke up tentatively, "I was hoping you and Jay would both agree to help me out with this a little. I'm not talking about making a reality TV show out of our lives or anything," he added hastily, seeing their reluctance. "Just, you know, I'd like to get your perspective on things, and show people a little bit about what life in the Castle is like."

Arching an eyebrow, Nell echoed, "The Castle?"

"You're standing in the Castle, my dear," Tyler informed her, now holding back none of his charm. "This is our Castle, and we are its kings."

"Now that might be worth making a blog about," Nell teased.

"So, what do you say? Want to help me show the folks back home what life is really like inside the ivory tower?" Will prompted his friends, looking so hopeful and eager that Tyler knew he couldn't possibly refuse such an innocent request…

_It's a damn good thing I've already forgiven Will, or I just might hate him right now._

"Tyler?" Liz was at the computer, another worried frown furrowing her brow. "I think you'd better come look at this."

He sighed wearily. "What now?"

The look she shot him said plainly that she'd had her fill of his attitude for one day. In spite of his grief, Tyler recognized that he was being unnecessarily difficult; he honestly didn't want to be an asshole to his girlfriend, he just couldn't seem to control his moods lately. Dropping an apologetic kiss on her forehead, he murmured, "I'm sorry, baby, I'm just…I don't know what I am, but I don't mean to take it out on you."

As always, Liz accepted his apology without complaint. "It's okay. But look," she pointed at the screen. "There's a message for you, from somebody named Thad. Is that one of Will's contacts? Or Kate's, maybe?"

Tyler hardly heard anything she was saying, though, because he had recognized the email address on the screen. Numb with shock, he told her, "It's from my brother."

"Your brother? The one in med school?" Liz gripped Tyler's hand tightly. "Are you – are you sure? It could be some kind of trap, couldn't it?"

She was right, Tyler realized. He hadn't spoken to Thad in four years: How likely was it that his estranged brother would be contacting him now, of all times?

Besides, if Tyler knew Thad – and he was fairly certain that he did, having grown up with him – his brother would not be risking the Fog family name by reaching out to his fugitive sibling. And furthermore, since Chambers had made out that Tyler and Jay had taken Carlton hostage in order to force him to finance their disappearance, essentially making Tyler responsible for his father's death, he very much doubted that the younger brother who had hero-worshipped their father would be checking up on his well-being.

Feeling all at once totally overwhelmed by all that had happened that day and over the past six weeks, Tyler found himself unable to choose a course of action: open the message, delete it, forward it to Will. He simply couldn't summon the energy to sort out the options.

"What should I do?" he asked Liz.

Seeing his helplessness, Liz once again proved to be stronger than Tyler could ever have imagined when he'd met her in that bar. "Send it to Marlow," she decided firmly. "Let her check it out, see if it's real or some kind of trap. If it is your brother, she can let you know."

Tyler acquiesced to her plan without argument. "Okay. I'll do that and then go finish packing – we should be leaving soon."

"Hey." Liz caught Tyler's wrist and pulled him down for a quick, sweet kiss. "Just hold on a while longer, okay, baby? We'll be back with everybody else in a day, and then I've got a really good feeling that this will all be over soon."

As he sat down at the computer, still feeling as if the proverbial weight of the world rested on his shoulders, Tyler could only hope that she was right. He didn't know how much more he could take before his spirit was broken completely.

**Part 4**

Sitting still had never been a strong suit of Marlow's. Even if all she could do was pound the pavement going door-to-door to interview and re-interview witnesses, she had always preferred to be on the move during an investigation. Borjes had often teased her about needing inertia in order to think clearly; he had been able to sit for hours, staring at the top of his desk, working out problems without moving a muscle. It had driven Marlow crazy to watch him when her own feet were itching to get up and go, go, go, somewhere, anywhere.

So after a month of confinement in Harold Stone's D.C. apartment, Marlow suspected she was on the verge of a mental collapse. "Cabin fever" did not come close to describing the pent-up aggression she felt. Too much time alone with her thoughts so soon after losing Borjes hadn't helped her mood any, either; she often found herself literally tugging at her own hair when his face would appear unbidden before her mind's eye. If Stone had kept liquor in the house, she would probably have become a drunk.

Talking to Westbrook nearly everyday kept her sane. By some unspoken understanding, the two women had sought one another out as confidantes – not only about the Fourth Branch, but also about life. Marlow had told Westbrook much more about her feelings for Borjes than she had shared with any other living person. She had revealed all of her frustration and rage over being forced to lay low when what she really wanted to do was unload a clip in Fred Chambers' face. For her part, Westbrook had opened up regarding her feelings for Will Traveler and his out-right rejection of her. Bad as things were for her in D.C., Marlow had to admit she was probably in a less stressful situation than Westbrook in Miami. At least she and Stone were far enough beyond their romantic interlude not to have unrequited love complicating their relationship.

Marlow's temper was enough of a complication, she readily admitted that to herself. Had Stone been a less patient man, he would have tossed her out on her ear by now. She was certain he had wanted to a few times. Instead, he had just threatened to lock her up in a freezer for an hour or so if she didn't calm down. That inevitably made Marlow laugh: No matter how often or sincerely she apologized, or how many times Stone assured her that she was forgiven, she knew he would never let her forget that particular incident.

He was a good friend, a good man. She was lucky to have him looking out for her. It was just…

_I just want to be doing something, not cooling my heels while everyone else takes on the bad guys._

Such were Marlow's thoughts on the day when she knew that Burchell was breaking into Drummond's car for his laptop and Westbrook and Traveler were meeting with the contact from Belenus Pharmaceuticals to secure a sample of Morbus. Knowing the danger her comrades were in did not make sitting quietly on Stone's couch any easier. And after she watched Chambers' news conference, Marlow honestly thought she might snap and go on a murderous rampage if she were cooped up in the apartment one minute longer.

As if he had read her thoughts, Stone suddenly sent her an instant message: _Put on a cap and sunglasses. Come down the back stairs and meet me in the alley. Five minutes._

Marlow's heart rate doubled as a thrill of terror shot through her. Had they been discovered? Were they running for their lives?

She had to admit, she didn't really care what the reason was – she was just glad to be seeing some action at last.

Donning Stone's Carolina Panthers ballcap and an over-sized pair of dark glasses, she left by the back staircase of his apartment. It took her only a minute to reach the alleyway, which she stepped into just as Stone's Taurus pulled up. She hopped in beside him, asking brightly, "What's up?"

"Did you see Chambers' news conference?" he asked, heading out of the alley.

"Son of a bitch." Marlow felt like punching something, anything, as she recalled Chambers' oh-so-concerned facial expression while he addressed the nation with a pack of lies. "What else is he going to pin on these two boys? The JFK assassination?"

"I'm sure he's got any number of things he'd like to pin on them," Stone answered, with a note of grim satisfaction in his voice that told Marlow something big was going down, "but we've got Fred Chambers by the short hairs now, my dear."

_Music to my ears…_

"Tell me," Marlow insisted.

Chambers was headed into the heart of the city, she noted. "Do you remember Otis Whaley?"

"Sure. He was the federal agent we caught cleaning up Paul Murden's apartment. Westbrook killed him in Fog's hospital room, though, right?"

Stone shook his head. "Westbrook shot him," he corrected. "She didn't kill him."

"Tough little bastard," Marlow muttered, recalling Whaley's spectacular escape from federal custody. "So what's the deal? Did you capture Whaley or something? Because I've got to tell you, the guy doesn't strike me as the type to talk."

"You knew him before he was a quadriplegic," Stone replied.

Marlow's stomach turned. No matter how much of a bastard the man was, she wouldn't wish such a fate on him. "Jesus. I take it Westbrook shot him in the spine?"

"You got it."

"And now he's willing to sell out the Fourth Branch?" She shook her head, uncertain. "I don't know. I figured a guy like him would be even more dedicated to the cause after suffering an injury like that. Fighting the good fight and all that b.s."

Stone was driving down increasingly dilapidated-looking streets. "Whaley never knew he was working for the Fourth Branch," he explained to her. "He thought he was working for Jack Freed, the FBI and Homeland Security. He thought he was a solider, a spy for the US government. And he was one dedicated son of a bitch, let me tell you. Probably the deadliest agent Hometown ever produced, from what Franklin has told me.

"So imagine this guy Whaley's shock when he finds out, from yours truly, that he hasn't actually been working for the US government at all. In fact, he's been working against them."

Marlow cast a nervous glance at the angry-looking youths skulking the streets around them. Stone drove a very nice car to be heading so far into the ghetto.

"How did you find him?" she inquired. "And are you sure he's telling the truth? I thought for certain he was in on whatever Freed was doing."

"I found him, Jan, because I am an excellent NSA agent." Stone offered her a cocky smile, and she pulled a face at him. More seriously, he said, "Really, I found him when I was visiting a friend of mine at the VA last week. I'm walking down the hall and all of a sudden I see this name on a chart – Otis Whaley, big as life. I step inside and, sure as anything, it's our guy. Hooked up to all kinds of machines and paralyzed from the neck down, but still, our guy."

Stone had parked the car in front of a seedy-looking motel. He motioned for Marlow to follow him inside; he seemed supremely unconcerned by the greedy looks being thrown toward his car by every passerby.

"Whaley's here?" Marlow whispered. The lobby of the motel reeked of urine and marijuana smoke. Three women who were obviously prostitutes were draped across plastic-covered couches in the small, smoke-filled lounge area; a greasy-haired man with a pot belly showing through a threadbare, beer-spattered tee-shirt glared at them from the registration desk.

"Hiya, Milt," Stone said to the greasy-haired man, ignoring Marlow. He plopped three crisp hundred-dollar bills down on the counter. Snatching them up in grubby, tobacco-stained fingers, Milt suddenly looked much friendlier. "Our guest still with us?"

"You know it, Harry." Milt's voice was rough and coarse, the voice of a man who would probably die of throat cancer from chain-smoking. "You gonna need some privacy again?"

"You know me too well, my friend. And keep an eye on my car, would ya?"

"Nobody messes with you, Harry, not in my place." As he spoke, Milt hefted a hand-cannon of a pistol from underneath the desk and placed it serenely across his lap. "You go on up. I got your back."

Staying glued to Stone's side as they ascended the narrow stairs, Marlow hissed, "Let me guess: You guys served together."

"You don't miss a step, do you, Jan?" Stone grinned at her. "Milt's a good guy. He's just had some…difficulties readjusting to civilian life."

_Anybody with a Semper Fi bumper sticker, I swear to God…_

Marlow pushed all thoughts about Stone's unswerving loyalty to his fellow Marines from her mind, however, as he stepped up to the door of Room 206 and tapped lightly. A gruff voice called, "Who is it?"

"It's Kurtz," Stone replied.

_Kurtz? Like Conrad's "Heart of Darkness"?_

Marlow rolled her eyes. "Kurtz and Marlow," she muttered. "How cute."

"I thought it was."

The door opened suddenly, quashing their banter. Having half-expected to see Tyrese Franklin, Marlow was startled to find a suit-clad NSA agent ushering them inside.

"You went through the agency on this?" she demanded of Stone.

He motioned for the younger agent to leave them. They stood in the motel room's tiny kitchen, pitching their voices too low for anyone else to hear.

"Look, Jan, I know you have plenty of reasons not to trust government agencies right now. I do, too," Stone began. "But the fact of the matter is, no matter what Traveler and Westbrook think, we aren't going to be able to stop the Fourth Branch without having credible entities like the NSA and the FBI on our side. Otherwise, we're just going to seem like a bunch of crackpots.

"Now, it's not like I marched down to my boss's office and spilled my guts about what's been going on," he rushed to say, seeing the questions on her lips. "Nobody knows that I'm aware of Burchell and Fog's whereabouts, and for their sakes and mine, I intend to keep it that way. But when Whaley decided he was willing to talk, I had to be able to offer him some kind of protection – real protection, not like what I've given you, which is just a place to crash. Don't argue," he cut her off before she could protest, "you know it's the truth. And anyway, it's not like I could haul somebody with his medical problems up to my apartment and hide him, even if I'd wanted to. He needs too much care."

Grudgingly, Marlow acknowledged the sensibleness of everything Stone was staying. Nevertheless, she didn't like that he had gone to the NSA without consulting her.

_Probably thought I'd shoot him for suggesting it, the way my temper's been lately._

"What about Franklin?" Marlow pressed, not quite ready to relinquish her righteous indignation. "I thought he was such a good buddy of yours."

"Franklin is a source, Jan, nothing more. I have no idea how much of what he says I can trust. You helped me to see that."

Marlow softened considerably toward Stone for that admission. Seeing that, he hurried on, "You may not realize it, but I've risen pretty high in the ranks at the NSA. I have fairly broad operational discretion, and I chose to use that in this instance to put Whaley under NSA protection as a federal witness."

"You don't think the Fourth Branch can get to someone in federal witness protection, Harold? I know you're not that naïve."

"You don't understand." Once more, Stone's smile turned cocky and self-satisfied. "Whaley's already talked, Jan. The guy lost the use of his limbs, for Christ's sake. And then he got dropped into a VA shit-hole to rot by the people he nearly died protecting. Believe me when I say he sang his little black heart out.

"Now, here's the best part: Even if the Branch gets to him now, which I don't think they will, he's been deposed by the Justice Department. They have audio and video of him telling everything, I mean _everything, _he knowsabout Freed and Hometown and the Drexler bombing."

Marlow's spirits soared as her jaw dropped open in amazement. "You mean – you're saying – "

"I'm saying it's not a silver bullet, but it's a pretty damn hard testimony to explain away," Stone confirmed. "With what the others have managed to dig up and what Whaley has told us…Jan, I really think we've got these bastards, including Chambers. You should have heard what Whaley had to say about him. I really think we're going to prove that Burchell and Fog had nothing to do with the Drexler, and we're going to be able to put the people who are actually responsible behind bars."

Hardly able to contain her excitement, Marlow stammered, "Wait until I tell Kaitlyn – I mean, Westbrook…And Jay and Tyler, they're going to be so happy…"

She stopped suddenly, perplexed. "Wait. If you've already gotten everything you need from Whaley, then why am I here?"

Stone smiled innocently. "Well, if you want to go back to the apartment, I'll take you. But I get the feeling you've been going a little crazy being out of the field. And since Whaley's testimony has definitely removed all suspicion from your name – no one is going to question what you've done once they find out about Chambers' involvement in this mess – I thought you might be interested in helping me with the follow-up interview and then talking to a few witnesses who can confirm his statement. Of course, if you're not interested…"

Impulsively, Marlow reached out and hugged Stone. "You've been better to me than I deserve, Harold," she said in his ear.

He dropped a platonic kiss onto her forehead. "Yeah, well, I know a rising star when I see one. So when you're running the FBI someday, just remember the people who helped you get there, okay?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Episode 9:**

"**Why We Fight"**

**Part 1**

Planning a wedding while hiding from deadly mercenaries was not something Kim had ever seen herself doing. She had imagined the traditional big-church, family-oriented affair: her grandmother's dress, her father (grudgingly) giving her away, her extensive network of cousins acting as bridesmaids, her aunts and her mother crying into tissues at the reception. So she was surprised to discover that the whirlwind affair of her "wedding" to Jay actually proved to be a lot of fun, despite the danger they were all in.

Obviously, the marriage was not going to be official – the prime suspect in the Drexler Museum bombing couldn't very well walk into city hall and request a marriage license. Yet Jay had insisted that they go forward with the ceremony. He said that if anything happened to him, he wanted his children to know how committed he had been to their mother; he wanted Kim to know, too, he said, how serious he was about their future together, no matter what happened once they confronted the Branch.

Kim had never been more in love with Jay than she was at that moment.

He had taken the news of her pregnancy amazingly well. She had pictured him being distraught, perhaps even blaming her for adding to their worries. Instead, he was overjoyed at the prospect of being a father. And Kim knew Jay would make an excellent parent. She only hoped that the evidence they had amassed against the Branch would be enough to clear his name and put their futures back on track.

But plots and schemes were put on the back-burner as soon as Kim and Jay announced their news to Tyler, Liz and Kate in the kitchen of Kate's Pennsylvania safehouse. Will, Kate had explained to them, had parted from her in Miami to hide the evidence they had accrued; Kim wished he could have been there for the celebration that followed their announcement, because she had a feeling Will would have been happier for them than anyone…

Kim had never pegged Will for the type to love babies until shortly after their final spring semester at Yale had begun. She had been over at the Castle working on her MFA portfolio; as graduation loomed, they had all been so busy, it seemed she had only been able to work in stolen moments with Jay. She had taken to doing most of her work at the Castle so she could at least watch while he studied.

On that frigid January night, Tyler had been out partying with some of his venture capitalist buddies, Will had been seated at the kitchen table across from Kim working out some horribly complex-looking equation, and Jay had been in the living room studying Advanced Property Law with his friend Gabrielle, a sensible thirty-something who had come back to law school after putting her husband through medical school. Kim liked Gabrielle, who was also a new mother: Her daughter, Mae, was barely three months old. As it turned out, Mae had accompanied her mother to the study session at the Castle that night because her father was on-duty at the hospital and her regular baby-sitter was out with the flu.

Mae was normally a good baby, but for some reason, that evening she was inconsolable. Kim could tell Gabrielle was exhausted. So could Jay, apparently, because after an hour of Gabrielle walking the floor while firing off answers to his quiz-questions on property liens, he stood up and offered to take the baby.

"Thank you," Gabrielle said gratefully, handing the wailing bundle over. "My arms are about to break. I just don't know what's wrong with her tonight."

Jay began pacing the floor while holding the baby awkwardly in his arms. Kim grinned down at the photographs spread out around her. She was certain Jay had never held a baby before, and he seemed to have no idea what to do with this very unhappy child.

After another few minutes of Mae screaming at the top of her lungs, Will suddenly put down his pencil, stood up and walked into the living room. Kim thought for a moment that perhaps the stress of studying had gotten to him and Will was about to demand that the squalling infant leave; although that would have been completely out-of-character for him, she couldn't say she would have blamed him when they all needed to concentrate.

Instead, however, Will held out his arms for the baby. "Mind if I try?" he asked Gabrielle.

The young mother eyed him uncertainly. Jay she knew; Will she didn't. Kim could understand her hesitation. In the end, though, she shrugged. "Sure, go for it."

As Jay unsteadily handed the baby off to Will, Kim found herself wishing she had a camera handy to document the occasion of Will Traveler and Jay Burchell trying to quiet a crying infant. Now if Tyler would just come home, they could have _Three Men and a Baby _on their hands, she reflected dryly.

To her surprise, Will cradled Mae close to his chest as if holding babies was something he did everyday; he even had the jiggle-walk down, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet as he moved from the living room into the kitchen. Mae quieted almost instantly.

"Wow," Kim commented, impressed. "You're really good at that."

"I like kids."

Will was gazing down into Mae's face. Around the edges of her blanket, Kim could see the baby staring back up at him, eyes wide with wonder. She raised her chubby arms and reached for Will's face; he offered her his index finger to close her tiny fist around.

"Look at you," Will murmured to the infant. "You're gonna break all the boys' hearts, aren't you, Beauty?"

Kim was certain she had never seen anything sweeter. With Gabrielle in tow, Jay entered the kitchen then, looking as astounded by Will's parenting skills as Kim felt.

"How did you do that?" Jay demanded of his friend, stepping up beside Will.

"I'll show you. Here." Will gestured for Jay to hold out his arms. Carefully, he laid the baby in them, showing Jay how to support her head while snuggling her against his chest. "Hold her close, yeah, like that. She just wants to know you've got her, so she feels safe. See?"

Mae was kicking her small feet and cooing happily up at Jay. Kim couldn't believe that she had no camera with her: Standing side-by-side gazing down in frank adoration at the baby, Jay and Will looked so – well, picture-perfect was the only word for it, really.

Gabrielle leaned down to Kim, her eyes on the boys. "Now that," she said, so softly only Kim could hear her, "is damn sexy."

Kim couldn't disagree. Seeing the wonder and tenderness on Jay's face made her feel soft and squishy inside. She could only imagine how he would look holding their baby someday. And Will, it seemed, would make a fantastic "uncle" for their children…

Now, Kim was struck by the sad realization that Will would probably never know her babies. When all of this was over, however it ended, Will would have to stop being "Will" and start being whoever he had been before Hometown had sent him to Yale.

It was not a time for sorrow, though, so Kim focused on the excitement of getting married. She and Jay at first protested that they did not want a lavish affair (or as lavish as an affair could be with just their small group in attendance). Kate, Liz and Tyler wouldn't hear of doing anything less than their utmost to make Kim and Jay's day magical, however. Kate even risked going into town to buy some material and a sewing machine so Liz could design and create Kim's wedding dress; no matter how much Kim insisted that she didn't need anything special, Liz would not hear of her friend being married in jeans and a tee-shirt. She retreated into the master bedroom with Tyler as her assistant, locking everyone else out while they patterned and sewed long into the night.

Kate recruited Jay to help her plan the service and to write vows. Having spent a considerable amount of time in Vegas, she explained to Kim, she was confident she could "officiate" their ceremony. Reluctantly, Kim let her groom go, submitting herself to Liz's tape-measure for her dress fitting and then, under orders from her husband-to-be, going upstairs for some much-needed sleep.

When Kim awoke the day after their return to Pennsylvania, sunrise was just creeping over the horizon. She climbed quietly out of bed, not wanting to disturb Jay, who was sleeping peacefully beside her. It seemed the entire household was asleep, in fact, as she stole into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

_At least I'm over my morning sickness. And afternoon and evening sickness. Pregnancy certainly has some undesirable aspects…_

Kim sat down at the kitchen table to watch the sun come up through the window above the sink. She had no more than gotten comfortable, however, when a noise from downstairs sent a thrill of fear through her.

She jumped to her feet and started for the bedrooms, her heart in her throat. She had only gone a few steps, though, when Will's voice from the stairwell stopped her.

"It's okay, it's just me."

Relief flooded Kim – not only that their safehouse hadn't been discovered, but also that Will had made it back without incident. She followed him into the kitchen, waving him into a chair while she poured him a cup of coffee.

"Thanks." Will looked exhausted; she suspected he had driven all night. He gratefully accepted the steaming mug and gulped at it like it was the elixir of life. "Sorry to scare you. I didn't think anybody would be up so early or I'd have called first."

"I had an early night," Kim explained. She couldn't keep a smile off her face; she was glad she would get to tell Will about the wedding and the babies herself.

First, however, she wanted to know if everything was on-track for their confrontation with the Branch. "Did everything go…okay?"

Will nodded. "We're all set so far as I know," he said around a yawn. "Kate and I met with her contact before we left, and she got us the sample of Morbus. I'm pretty certain she was on the up-and-up – she took a real chance smuggling that out for us."

"Kate said you had your doubts about the plan."

Will shrugged. "I like scenarios where I can predict the outcome. Contacts are unpredictable. But I think this worked out okay. At least we didn't get shot at, so it goes down as a victory in my book." They shared a grin. Chugging more coffee, Will noted, "You guys did good work yourselves, you know."

"Well, we didn't steal any biological weapons, but I'm pretty proud of us."

Kim decided she couldn't hold back any longer – she was bursting to share their good news. "I have to admit, though, we haven't gotten much work done since we got here. We've all been a little busy with a different kind of plan."

Alarm showed on Will's face. "What's happened?"

"Jay and I are getting married."

He looked understandably bewildered. "That's – that's wonderful, Kim. Congratulations. But…uh, isn't the timing a little…strange?"

She had to laugh at his reaction: It was so quintessentially Will, diplomatic to a fault. She didn't care that she had seen him settle disputes with a gun and his fists on several occasions now; she thought of him in these moments as "the real" Will, not whoever Hometown had made him into.

"Well," she answered happily, "Jay wants to make an honest woman out of me."

Will's mouth dropped open in shock. "You're…You mean…You're…"

"Pregnant, yes, Will."

Watching Will's expression shift from astonishment to horror before he pulled a carefully-controlled smile into place, Kim was struck once more by the doubts that had plagued her until she had finally told Jay about her condition – doubts that she had thought dispelled by Jay's happiness.

Will's reaction was exactly what she had expected Jay's to be. She saw at once – it had been written all over Will's face – that he knew what a terrible, terrible complication her pregnancy added to their already-dire situation. The fact that he was too good of a friend to give voice to that reality did not change it.

_How could I convince myself so easily that we're all going to live happily ever after? Jay could wind up in prison or dead – I could be captured and tortured, these innocent babies right along with me – I can't protect my children like this…_

Tears threatened to spill from Kim's eyes. Reaching across the table, Will gripped her hand. "Don't," he said quietly, shaking his head. "Don't cry. You have every right to be happy."

Nodding, Kim cuffed tears from her cheeks and struggled to draw normal breaths around the lump in her throat. Will released her hand and leaned back in his chair. He made a valiant effort to sound nonchalant and unconcerned as he asked, "So…when is the big day?"

"This evening." Kim blew out a shaky breath, trying to capture her earlier elation. "Will, look, I'm sorry for the distraction. You come back and we're all sewing wedding dresses and writing vows – you must just be disgusted with us. I know we really should be focusing on what happens when we bring our evidence to the Fourth Branch…"

A strange, blazing fire appeared in Will's eyes, deepening the irises to an emerald green. "You listen to me," he said, his voice more serious and somber than Kim had ever heard it. "This is what we're fighting for, Kim: For you, and Jay, and your babies, and your right to have a future together that's not going to be controlled by people like Jack Freed. When I joined Hometown, I signed up because I wanted to protect those very sorts of things – I wanted to help make sure that everyday people could go on living their everyday, ordinary lives, with all the beautiful things that go along with that.

"So don't you apologize," he continued fiercely. "Don't you feel guilty about things that should make you happy, just because it might mean we have to take a minute and step back from all of this madness."

Kim blushed, recalling how she had felt moments before upon seeing his reaction to the news of her pregnancy. "It's hard not to feel guilty," she argued. "It's not like I planned this, but I know – and so do you, don't deny it – that it makes everything more…difficult."

Placing his fingers lightly over hers on the tabletop, Will persisted, "_Life_ is difficult, Kim. If we can't take a breath to celebrate you and Jay bringing a child into this world, if we can't put off our grand plans for a day to see you two pledge your lives to one another, then I don't know what the hell we're doing all of this for. Your life, your babies, your wedding – those aren't extraneous problems. They're not something you're dumping on the rest of us. Those things are just life," Will finished. "Those things are why we fight."

**Part 2**

When Will awoke on the downstairs couch later that afternoon, his mind was immediately full of the plan to bring down the Fourth Branch. He had fallen asleep going over and over everything that could go wrong; he woke up mentally reviewing every piece of evidence they had, trying to convince himself that it would be enough.

Scoring the sample of Morbus had been a major coup. True to her word, Breanna Murden had brought a tiny phial of the substance to a small café outside of Miami. Will and Kate had chosen a seat far in the back; both had guns ready to be drawn at a moment's notice if things went south. But Dr. Murden had greeted Kate like a long-lost sister, hugging her tightly and asking how she was "doing" without Paul. Kate did beautifully, playing up the role of the distraught widow who was now trying to piece together what had happened to her fallen beloved.

"I hope this helps," Dr. Murden had whispered, surreptitiously sliding a slender black case across the table to Kate. "The substance is contained in there – it's in a phial, I mean. So you can look inside. Just don't open the phial," she had added hastily.

"Thanks, Breanna." Kate had deposited the case in her bag without checking its contents. Will had agreed with that decision – no reason to suggest to their contact that they didn't trust her. "I promise, I'll find out what went wrong at the museum, and why Paul didn't get out."

"Do you really think Vivian had something to do with it?" Dr. Murden had sounded almost hopeful, like she was itching for a reason to see her boss and former rival put away.

Kate had been decidedly noncommittal. "When we find out, I'll let you know. Now, you take care of yourself, okay?"

As they had left the café, Will had been chagrined for doubting Kate's trust in the woman. Unless she was an Emmy-worthy actress, it seemed that Breanna Murden placed absolute faith in everything Kate said: She hadn't even asked why they would secretly need a sample of a biological weapon for an investigation into her brother's murder.

_Probably years of working for the Branch taught her not to ask questions._

Of course, they hadn't had the sample tested yet, but Will decided to be optimistic and believe the phial actually contained Morbus. He would find a way to get it into a laboratory if it became necessary, though for now, the point was that he could tell the Branch they had it.

In addition to the Morbus sample, Whaley's testimony to the Justice Department was another death-blow to the Branch. Will had to hand it to Harold Stone and Jan Marlow – they were damn good at their jobs. The last person Will would ever have expected to rat out Freed was Whaley, the little ass-kissing punk. Actually, Will still harbored some doubts about what Whaley's real motives were, but just as he couldn't torture himself worrying that the Morbus sample was a fake, he couldn't see the use in worrying that Whaley was working toward some endgame of his known by turning on his former employers. They would deal with that complication when and if it arose.

The Justice Department having Whaley's testimony was a bit of a complication in and of itself, Will admitted. He bristled at major decisions like bringing in the NSA being made without his input; he had (quite coldly) told Marlow as much on the phone. Nevertheless, he also had to agree with her that Stone was most likely right: If they truly wanted to exonerate Jay and Tyler and stop the bioterrorist attack, they were probably going to have to bring in the FBI, NSA, and CIA at some point. Otherwise, they were just an unlikely collective of fugitives and spies hurling wild accusations at wealthy, powerful individuals.

And so, when Kate had suggested that their next move should be contacting the CIA, Will had – reluctantly – acquiesced.

Kate had told him before that she believed her boss, Andrew Kensington, was part of the Fourth Branch. Tyrese Franklin had confirmed this, although he claimed that Kensington was one of the members who disagreed with Freed's methods and wanted him and everyone who shared his views stopped. Kate had told Will that she tended to buy this, primarily because Kensington had tasked her to spy on Freed, suggesting there was no love lost between them. Furthermore, she had pointed out, in ten years Kensington had never burned her, when one phone call from him could have blown her cover and found her at point-blank range of a Branch assassin.

"Let me go to Washington," she had pleaded with Will on a deserted stretch of highway north of Miami, where they were splitting up for her to continue to Pennsylvania while he hid the evidence they had gathered. "Let me talk to Kensington. If he is part of this, he can help us figure out what to do next. It feels a lot safer to me than going to some NSA bureaucrat we know nothing about."

He had exhausted every argument he could think of: Kensington could ambush her; he could tip off a Branch member to ambush the rest of them; the CIA could be more involved than Kensington knew, so even if he was trustworthy, they might end up walking into a trap. Kate had held firm, though, insisting that if he could be trusted, Kensington would be a powerful ally. Just as Marlow's reasoning that they would need credible agencies on their side before the end had rung true with Will, so too did Kate's rationale that if the Branch was indeed fighting its own internal war, they would be foolish not to use those divisions to their advantage.

In the end, however, Will had agreed to her plan primarily because he was learning to trust Kate's judgment. They would regroup at the safehouse, he had decided, and she could go on to Washington from there, to find out if Kensington was friend or foe.

_But that's tomorrow. Tonight, we're celebrating._

Kim's news had floored Will. He was glad for her and Jay; if two people deserved happiness together, it was them. Yet being happy for his friends didn't change the fact that he now had even more reasons to be concerned that their plan might backfire, landing them all in prison (or worse). Still, Will was determined to push those thoughts aside and let himself enjoy the day.

_If all goes according to plan, this will be one of the last times I see Jay and Tyler for the rest of my life. I'd best make the most of being Will Traveler while I can._

In that spirit, he climbed the stairs to the kitchen to find wedding preparations furiously underway.

"Hey," Jay said, looking harried as he allowed Tyler to pin a corsage – a spray of wildflowers – onto his ill-fitting navy-blue suit. Will wondered where in the world they had dug that antique up, though he supposed it beat getting married in blue jeans.

"Hey." Will snatched a Heineken out of the fridge – apparently, Kate had gone shopping on her way back from Miami, and he was pleased that she had remembered his favorite beer. "You look good, man."

"He looks like a guy in a suit that's too big for him," Tyler corrected. "But this was the best we could do on short notice."

Tyler looked much spiffier than Jay in a black pin-striped suit that at least fit him, even if the style was several years out of date. Will supposed Tyler, being more accustomed to finery than Jay, simply knew how to wear a suit better.

He couldn't resist ribbing his fashion-conscious friend, however. "What're you supposed to be, a waiter?"

"I'm the best man," Tyler replied, undeniable pride in his voice.

Stung, Will told himself he should have seen that one coming. After all, Jay had been bound to ask one of them to stand up with him. If Will had been given the choice between sharing one of the most important moments of his life with a friend who had always been true or a guy whose real name he didn't even know – well, he had to admit it wouldn't have been a difficult decision for anyone.

Turning away in case his emotions showed on his face, Will surveyed the living room. Someone – he assumed Kate or Liz, since neither Jay nor Tyler struck home as the Martha Stewart type – had done an amazing job of transforming the room into a picturesque wedding chapel. The furniture had been shoved against the walls, leaving a wide, bare circle in the center of the hardwood floor. White streamers hung from the ceiling; vases of wildflowers covered every available surface. A piece of white fabric, probably left over from the wedding dress, ran from the hallway to a long, low table in the center of the room, where a white pillar candle stood beside a box of matches. The unity candle, Will assumed, though he hadn't attended many weddings.

"Kim wants to see you, by the way," Tyler was saying to Will. "We were just about to come wake your lazy ass up."

"Better not keep the bride waiting." Will drained the last of his beer and stuck his hand out to Jay, who clasped it warmly. "Congratulations, man. You're one lucky guy."

"You have no idea," Jay responded dreamily.

Will soon located Kim in the master bedroom, where Liz, looking pretty but frazzled in a baby-blue slip-dress, was zipping up a simple yet gorgeous gown. From the doorway, Will let out a low whistle.

"You look beautiful," he told Kim honestly. "You look…amazing."

"Shut the door!" Liz barked, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. "Jay could come down here any second! Don't you know it's bad luck for the bride to see the groom before the wedding?"

Hastily closing the door, Will muttered, "Jesus, sorry…"

Kim winked at him. "Don't mind Liz. She's taken on the role of Bridezilla for me."

"Okay, now we have to do your hair. I'll go get Kate." Liz spun on her heel and started for the door, warning Will on her way out, "Don't you dare say anything to make her cry. We just finished her make-up."

Will didn't know whether to laugh or cower. He turned a bemused expression on Kim, who giggled. "She was up all night making my dress," she apologized for Liz, who was already out the door. "I think she's a little punch-drunk from fatigue."

A short silence followed. Will couldn't take his eyes off of Kim: She was radiant. The dress was off-the-shoulder and fell straight to the floor, scraping the tops of her bare toes. A lace train cascaded from the small of her back, flowing out a few feet behind her.

But it wasn't only the dress or the expertly-applied makeup that made her such a vision, Will knew. Kim had a glow that he recognized, having seen it on Maya's skin in his dream – the glow of a woman perfectly, absolutely, completely contented.

He was certain the pregnancy had something to do with it as well. Always lovely, Kim now reminded him of Botticelli's Venus emerging from her shell.

_Beauty is born._

"Jay said you wanted to see me," Will said at length, mostly to break the silence.

"I did." Kim stepped toward him, moving carefully so as not to trip on the dress's long train. Will came forward to meet her halfway.

Kim lifted both of his hands in hers. "I know this isn't a 'real' wedding, Will, but I want to do things properly. And it just wouldn't feel right if I didn't have someone to walk me down the aisle. So what I wanted to know was," she gazed hopefully up into his face, "would you give me away, Will?"

_Women are amazing creatures._

That Kim could find it in herself to forgive the man who had framed her soon-to-be-husband for a horrible act of terrorism, that she could overlook the danger in which Will had placed her and now the babies she carried by agreeing to Freed's plan two years ago, exceeded his ability to understand. His friends' actions in the weeks since the Drexler bombing had proven to Will that the human heart held more capacity for goodness than he had ever thought possible.

Wanting to earn that forgiveness, he readily agreed to her request. "I'd be honored to, Kim."

She kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she said, eyes bright.

"Don't cry," Will protested, "or I may get shot before we make it down the aisle." Kim giggled.

Thirty minutes later, dressed in a gray suit, navy-blue shirt and gray tie, all of which, aside from the jacket (which was made for someone taller and more broad-shouldered than him), fit quite well, Will linked Kim's arm through his. The stereo Tyler had hooked up in the living room began to play Wagner's _Bridal Chorus, _signaling that their big moment had arrived.

Kim was trembling from head to toe. "You ready?" he prompted, hand on the master bedroom's doorknob.

She nodded, causing a curl to spring loose from the elaborate twist Kate had fixed. Will tucked it behind her ear. "Let's do this," she declared.

Will walked slow and steady, careful not to step on the lace trailing behind them. He placed his free hand over Kim's fingers where they gripped his arm; in her other hand, she clutched a spray of wild flowers. He could tell she was nervous and tried to calm her with his touch. She squeezed his arm to let him know she appreciated it.

Jay was waiting in front of the little table in the center of the living room. Tyler stood beside him; Liz – Kim's maid of honor – stood across from them both; and Kate, who would be officiating, stood on the other side of the table.

Will's eyes met Kate's as he moved slowly up the aisle with Kim on his arm. She looked fantastic in a midnight-blue, A-line sheath dress, a pale pink gloss glistening on her lips. Like Liz, she had tucked her hair up into a bun and wore a sprig of wildflowers wrapped around it. With flowers scattered around the room as well, both girls reminded Will pleasantly of wood-nymphs.

As the final notes played, Will and Kim stopped in front of Jay.

"Who gives this woman to be married?" Kate asked.

Clearing his throat, Will answered clearly, "Her friends and I do."

He turned to Kim and kissed her lightly on the cheek before placing her hand in Jay's and stepping to the side. He saw Jay mouth _"I love you" _as Kate began the ceremony.

It was perfect, in Will's opinion. Kate delivered a short but very fitting speech about how love did not make a great marriage, for it was instead a marriage and the commitment it entailed that made a great love. Liz cried when Jay and Kim lit their unity candle; she cried some more when they exchanged vows Jay had written for them. Kate joined in the tears when Tyler produced two simple golden bands – purchased, Will would learn, from a pawn-shop in a nearby town where Kate had also bought the material for Kim's dress – and Kim and Jay slipped them on each other's hands.

After Kate declared happily, "I now pronounce you man and wife," and Jay kissed Kim like kissing was going out of style, the real fun began.

Will didn't know how they had pulled such a celebration together in a day, but he had to hand it to Tyler, Liz and Kate, they knew how to throw a party. The wine, champagne and beer flowed freely, accompanied by cookies and brownies and even a small white wedding cake. In between cutting strips of fabric for Liz, Tyler had used Kate's laptop to download music from iTunes, so they had a wonderful selection of songs with which to dance the night away.

And dance they did. Will couldn't remember when he'd last had so much fun – well, he could, but since the memory involved Maya and a blissful afternoon spent making love on a small sailboat, he preferred not to. He didn't want to be sad on his friends' happy day. He had to admit, though, that seeing Kim and Jay so much in love made him ache with longing for the woman he had hoped to someday marry.

Taking Kim for one last turn on the dance floor, he told her quietly, "I hope you're always this happy, Kim." He couldn't help picturing Maya as he had seen her in his dream, and grief shot through him like an arrow.

"I hope someday you get to be this happy," she said back. Her gaze shifted in Kate's direction; Will felt himself color a little. Carefully, sensing that she was on shaky ground, Kim went on, "I know you've lost a lot, Will. Probably more than I could ever imagine. But I can't believe that anyone who loved you wouldn't want you to feel what I'm feeling right now."

_I've already felt it. I just didn't get the fairytale wedding, too._

Kim's wedding day was not the time for discussing his losses, however, so Will merely nodded. When the song he ended, he walked her over to Jay, who understandably looked ready to get his bride off alone.

"We'll clean up," Will assured them. "You guys go on."

Kate and Liz kissed Kim and Jay both as they prepared to head off to the master bedroom, which Liz had insisted they take for the night. Tyler and Will each hugged Jay and kissed Kim's cheek. The four of them stood in the living room watching their two friends walk hand-in-hand down the hallway, practically floating on a cloud of happiness.

The instant they were gone, Liz collapsed in a heap on the sofa. "Wake me in a year," she groaned.

"She was up – " Tyler started to explain to Will.

" – all night making the dress. I know," Will finished for him.

Actually, Liz did look exhausted. Seeing as how they had some very stressful days coming up, he decided she needed to get some rest. And, given the way Tyler was eyeing her slip-dress, he decided his friend would probably be a lot happier accompanying her to bed than cleaning up champagne glasses.

"You two get some sleep," Will instructed them. "I didn't do anything with the preparations, so it's only fair that I clean up. Go on."

As they headed off down the hall to the bedroom Jay and Kim had been sharing, Tyler already wrapping his arms around Liz's small waist, Will turned to Kate, who was unpinning her hair from its bun. He realized that, even amidst all the evening's revelry, they had hardly spoken to one another. They had not shared so much as a single dance, even.

"You don't have to help, either," he told her. "You've got a bigger day than any of us tomorrow."

Kate shook her hair out around her shoulders. "I'm not tired yet. It won't take us very long if we work together."

The stereo still played quietly in the background as they pulled down streamers, tossed paper plates and cups and beer and wine bottles into the garbage, and pushed furniture back into place. All evening, they had danced by candlelight; it had not occurred to Will to turn the lights on as they cleaned up, until Kate started blowing out candles and the room grew increasingly dim.

_It might be easier to say good-bye in the dark anyway, so we don't have to look each other in the eye._

He had known since they agreed to the plan that he needed to say whatever he had to say to Kate before she left for D.C., because no matter what assurances she made, there was a very real possibility that she would not be coming back. Besides, Will noted, if all went as planned, this would in all likelihood be the last time he was ever alone with Kaitlyn Westbrook. He thought he owed her a proper good-bye.

_And what would that be, exactly?_

Nothing romantic, Will promised himself. No matter how enchanted the evening had been, he held firm to his decision that encouraging Kate's feelings for him – or his for her – was a disastrous idea.

The only light left in the room was the nearly-spent unity candle when Will said, "Kate?"

"Yeah?" She paused, poised to blow out the candle, and looked over her shoulder at him. A strand of white-blonde hair fell across her cheek. Pushing it aside impatiently, she asked, "Is something wrong?"

"No. I was just wondering if you'd like to dance."

Kate did not answer straightaway. Will braced himself for her refusal; it was no more than he deserved, to be turned down cold, after the brush-off he had given her.

But after a moment, Kate nodded. "Okay."

They came together uncertainly in the center of the room. Will placed one hand on her hip; Kate rested one hand on his shoulder. Slowly, to some pop song Will had never heard before and was certain he would have found sickeningly sappy if he had listened to the words, they began to turn in a graceful waltz.

Kate's face was hidden in shadow. Will knew his was, too. The darkness seemed to make the moment more intimate somehow, and he wondered if it had been a bad decision to say good-bye by candlelight.

"You're worried about tomorrow," Kate observed.

Grinning at how easily she could read his thoughts, Will admitted, "I'm worried about you meeting with Kensington by yourself. Seems like a lot could go wrong."

"I'll have the element of surprise on my side," Kate reasoned, her tone light. Like him, she did not show fear readily. "And if I have any suspicion at all that he's lying to me…Well, I'm not above shooting him in the head, honestly."

Will laughed. He spun her out in a circle and pulled her back in, sliding his arm a little farther around her waist than was probably necessary as he did so. It was difficult, he admitted, not to want to be close to someone – especially someone he truly liked and might never see again.

He matched her levity with his own, though, because it seemed safer than saying what was really on his mind: That he didn't want her to go and not come back.

"The Rambo attitude is kind of at odds with your princess get-up, Kate."

"We're rarely what we seem, Will. You of all people should know that."

Her words caused him to stumble. As they stopped swaying to the music, Will became acutely aware that their bodies were pressed together, Kate's nose level with his chin. He closed his eyes and told himself not to be swept up in the moment. He told himself that whatever he was feeling could be chalked up to being lonely and sad because he missed Maya so much or to being concerned for Kate's well-being because she was, after all, his partner.

Kim's words echoed in his mind: _"I can't believe that anyone who loved you wouldn't want you to feel what I'm feeling right now."_

_You don't know what Maya would have wanted. But you do know she's dead because of you, so control yourself._

Will let go of Kate's waist. She immediately dropped her hands to her sides. "I should get some sleep," she declared, her voice ringing with false, forced cheer. "I think Jay and Kim had a nice day, don't you?"

"I do, yeah. This was a really wonderful thing you did for them."

He swallowed, surprised by how nervous he was, by how difficult it was to just say good night and let her go. "You, uh, you look really pretty, by the way. I like your dress."

He could feel Kate's eyes on his, though as the unity candle had at last burned out, he couldn't see her face at all. "Thank you."

Will knew if he stood there one moment longer he was going to let her kiss him. He didn't want to explore all of the reasons why part of him was tempted to let her do so; he didn't want to consider where it might lead if he did. Steeling himself as he would for an interrogation, he took control of the situation and leaned down to kiss her quickly on the cheek.

At the last possible second, Kate turned her head so that, instead of skimming her cheekbone, his lips brushed across hers. The contact was fleeting, light as a feather, hardly anything that could be called a kiss. Nonetheless, it left Will weak-kneed.

Mouth inches from his in the darkness, Kate murmured, "I just didn't want to never have done that. I apologize."

He tasted the sweet champagne on her breath and remembered how, when he had first met her at Buchanan's Miami mansion, she had been tipsy – and more than a little flirtatious. Apparently, alcohol did nothing for Kate's inhibitions. He supposed that was why, after a month of treating him with cool disdain, she was now making a nearly-successful effort at seducing him.

"It's okay." Will refused to let himself close the miniscule distance separating his lips from hers. "But I think we'd better say good-night."

Kate waited a moment longer before stepping back. Will knew she was hoping that he would lean in and kiss for her real, but he would not allow himself to. He thought he caught the hint of a sad smile on her face as she turned away, a shaft of moonlight briefly illuminating her expression.

"Good night, Will."

He watched her go with a strange, empty feeling opening up in the pit of his stomach. All he permitted himself to say, however, was, "Good night, Kate. Sleep well."

**Part 3**

The morning after the wedding, their small group gathered in the safehouse's basement to say good-bye to Kate. Tyler could tell what they were all thinking: _This could be the last time we see her._

Kim and Liz each hugged Kate tightly, their eyes bright with years as they stepped back. Tyler draped a comforting arm over Liz's shoulder, glad to be the one offering her solace for a change. Jay shook Kate's hand but then pulled her into a hug; Kim began to cry at that, protesting that she was just "hormonal" and they shouldn't mind her.

When it was his turn at good-bye, Tyler gripped Kate in a bear-hug that made her laugh and lightened the mood a bit in the room. "I didn't get a chance to say this before, with everything," Tyler told her, pitching his voice too low for the others to hear. "But thank you, for shooting the son of a bitch who killed my father."

"Oh, honey, you're welcome." Kate pecked a kiss on his cheek. "I just wish I'd been quicker, that's all."

When Tyler stepped back, Will, who had been skulking around the staircase, finally came forward. Tyler wondered if it was as obvious to the others as it was to him that these two had some unfinished business between them.

"Be careful," was all Will said, making no move to hug Kate or even shake her hand.

"I'll call you when I know something." Kate made no move to touch him, either. Tyler thought that, with people as reserved and calculated as those two, their refusal to make contact said more about how they felt than if they had grabbed one another in a passionate embrace.

Stepping into the tunnel that would lead her away from the safehouse, Kate stopped abruptly and turned back to Tyler. "I almost forgot," she said. "Marlow called this morning. She said to tell you the message was clean. She said you'd know what she meant."

Wishing Kate could have relayed that information in private, Tyler nevertheless knew now was not the time to be irritated with her. So he simply nodded to show he understood.

As the hidden door swung shut, sealing Kate off from their view, Will turned to Tyler. "What message?" he asked, without preamble.

Liz stiffened a little at Will's somewhat accusatory tone. "Tyler got a video message from his brother right before we left Philadelphia," she replied, rather defensively. "We sent it to Marlow to check out because we thought it might be some kind of a trap. And," she added pointedly, "apparently it wasn't."

Tyler appreciated her sticking up for him, though he didn't feel he needed defending, since he hadn't done anything wrong. "I still have the file on my computer," he told them. "You're welcome to watch it with me if you want."

Jay and Will exchanged a meaningful look. All at once, anger flared inside Tyler – another moment of extreme emotion he couldn't seem to control, despite his best efforts. He recalled with sudden irritation how Jay had insisted that Carlton Fog couldn't be trusted, how he had lobbied to keep Tyler from going to his father for help. Dismissing for the moment that Jay had largely been right about his father, Tyler was furious that his best friend should think him so gullible when it came to his family, as if he would trust them blindly after all he had learned.

And Will. Will had always treated him like an imbecile, Tyler decided, throughout their entire friendship – like the fact that he came from wealth and privilege meant he was incapable of surviving in the real world.

"I know what you're thinking," Tyler began, glaring at both of them.

Jay broke in, "Tyler, it's just – "

"I know what it is, Jay." Tyler was not in the mood for his friend's lawyering. Beside him, he felt Liz squeeze his arm, as if to say, _Control your temper, _but Tyler suddenly did not feel like controlling himself. Quite the opposite: He felt like raging at his friends, possibly even punching one of them – most likely Will, who was, after all, the reason they were caught up in this nightmare.

"You think I'm an idiot when it comes to my family," Tyler went on heatedly to Jay. "And he," he jerked his chin toward Will, "just thinks I'm an idiot, period. But guess what? I'm not an idiot. I sent the message to Marlow, didn't I? I didn't just open it up on blind faith, did I?"

Looking as if he was making a supreme effort to hold his own temper in check, Will countered reasonably, "That was a smart play, Tyler, but just because the message doesn't have some kind of tracing program on it that could lock onto your IP address doesn't mean that it's a good idea to listen to it. Let's face it, your father was in pretty deep with the Fourth Branch, and you've always told us how your brother worshipped Carlton. How will you know if you can trust whatever he says?"

Although a small (and still sane) part of Tyler's mind reasoned that the message could very well be an attempt by the Branch to play on Tyler's emotions in such a way that would get them all killed, he refused to acknowledge the sensibleness of what Will was saying. Tyler decided that he was done with playing the role of goofy side-kick to Jay's super-smart lawyer and Will's super-cool spy.

He took a step toward Will, who didn't back up an inch in spite of the fact that Tyler was taller and quite a bit more muscular than he was. Tyler found himself half-hoping Will would throw a punch.

"How about this, Will," he said, his voice acidic. "You may want us to believe you're our savior, but what you really are is the son of a bitch who got us all into this mess in the first place. Don't think I've forgotten that. And since Thad's my brother, and since I don't recall putting you in charge of my life, I'll decide whether or not I listen to his message, and you can stay the fuck out of it."

Kim gasped. Jay looked uncertainly from Will to Tyler, as if expecting a full-out brawl to erupt at any moment.

Staring into Will's eyes, daring him to make a move, Tyler saw the inner struggle his friend went through before finally choosing to back down. "Fine," Will shrugged, stepping to the side so Tyler could go up the stairs. "But if your offer still stands, I'd like to hear the message."

"So would I," Jay put in quickly.

"Me, too," Kim said.

Liz said nothing.

The rage that had consumed Tyler seconds before all at once ran out of him, like air leaking out of a balloon. He felt physically and mentally exhausted. Passing a hand across his eyes, he nodded. "That's…Yeah, of course. You all have a right to hear whatever is said."

He could only imagine how confused his friends were by his inexplicable shift in mood. Too embarrassed by his own behavior to look at any of them, Tyler hurriedly ascended the steps, retrieved his computer from the bedroom he shared with Liz, and set the equipment up on the kitchen table.

"Do I need to do anything extra to make sure it's safe?" Tyler asked Will when the screen containing Thad's message appeared.

Either having elected to overlook their earlier fight or too focused on what might go wrong to make an issue of it, Will shook his head. "No. If Marlow said it's okay, I'm sure it is."

_Okay. Here goes nothing…_

Feeling nervous and shaky inside, Tyler pushed the 'play' button on the laptop. Immediately, the video began to roll.

Seated in what appeared to be a posh hotel room, Thad looked exactly the same as Tyler remembered him: Basically, a younger copy of himself, with a shorter, more Ivy League haircut and a deeper dimple in his right cheek. Before the audio clicked on, Kim commented, "Boy, couldn't mistake that you two are related."

Tyler smiled at her over his shoulder. The group had gathered around behind where he was seated at the table. "When we were kids, people used to mistake us for twins," he recalled.

Just then the audio began to play. Having not heard his brother's voice in over a year, Tyler found himself oddly affected by the sound; tears immediately rushed to his eyes, causing him to blink rapidly to prevent them from spilling over.

"Hey, Ty," Thad began, licking his lips in an old, familiar nervous habit. "Uh, listen, I know when you get this you're probably going to think something's up, but there's, uh, there's a guy who I know who says you can have this file checked and see that it's not anything…Well, I guess if you're hearing this, you've probably already done that, so…

"I need to talk to you, Ty." Thad's voice almost broke; Tyler could see that his little brother was struggling to hold back tears of his own. "I know what's going on, what's really going on. Dad left a message with his will, we just opened it this morning. He told me to help you. He said you didn't have anything to do with the Drexler. So, just…When you get this, please, get in touch with me, Ty. There's this website the guy says you can use…"

As Thad stumbled through some technical instructions, Tyler stopped listening. His mind was spinning with what he had just learned: His father had left a message, apparently only to be opened in the event of his death, exonerating Tyler for the Drexler bombing.

_He really did love me. He really was trying to save me._

No longer able to hold back his tears, Tyler stood up and fled the room. He didn't stop until he was safely inside the bedroom with the door closed. Then he sat down heavily on the mattress and allowed the tears to come.

Despite how sad and angry he had felt at different points over the past four weeks, Tyler had not actually cried since the day of his father's death. Now, scalding tears cascaded down his cheeks and choking sobs scraped his throat raw; he buried his face in his hands and tried to muffle the sound, not wanting his friends to know what a mess he really was.

After several minutes, Tyler heard the door open softly and knew Liz had come to him. He lifted his face, prepared to hold up his arms to her, but checked himself when he realized it was Will walking over to the bed.

Embarrassed for one of his guy friends to see him in such a state, Tyler put his head back in his hands. Will sat down beside him and wordlessly put an arm around his friend's shoulders. He didn't speak, didn't tell Tyler to calm down or pull it together – he just sat there, holding Tyler against his side and staring at the floor, until at long last, the tears dried up and Tyler was able to breathe again without sobbing.

"God, I'm sorry." Mopping his face with the edge of his shirt, Tyler couldn't bring himself to look at Will. As a general rule, he did not cry in front of other men. Feeling stupid and blubbery, he went on, "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Looking rather uncomfortable with their intimate moment himself, Will nevertheless stayed put beside Tyler, though he did remove his arm from his shoulders. "You witnessed your father's murder a month ago, Tyler. I'd say that's what's wrong with you, and it's nothing to be sorry for."

"I shouldn't have acted like that to you and Jay. That was…I don't even know what that was."

"Forget it. I've been called worse than a son of a bitch." Will grinned at Tyler. "I figured you'd catch onto that fact sooner or later anyway – if you'll recall, I even tried to tell you what I'm really like."

Tyler clearly remembered that little exchange: _"You know, before you guys go taking any bullets for me, you should understand that I'm actually not a very good person." _And his reply, so impulsive and heart-felt: _"We know what a piece of shit you are, Will, and we love you anyway."_

_I wish I could feel like that again, so ready to forgive. I just…I just don't anymore._

Tyler couldn't say that he was angry with Will, exactly. In fact, he felt rather guilty for dumping the full burden of their current dilemma on Will's shoulders: The Fourth Branch was ultimately responsible for all that had happened to them, including all that had happened – and could still happen – to Will. Nonetheless, ever since Carlton's death, Tyler had found it increasingly difficult to think of the man now sitting beside him as Will Traveler, his best friend for two years.

He remembered telling Jay outside of Deer Harbor that he wished he could believe some part of Will's friendship had been real. Even though Tyler now believed that to be the case – nobody who didn't care about them would have done so much to save their lives – he wasn't sure he wanted to be Will's friend. He wasn't sure he even wanted to know who Will really was.

Trying to sort out his jumbled emotions regarding his father, Thad, and Will all at once was too overwhelming for Tyler, however. He blew out a tired sigh and stood up, determining to soldier on once more.

Will stood, too. "If you'd like some privacy to talk to your brother," he offered, "I don't think anybody will have a problem with it."

Tyler understood how difficult it was for someone like Will, whose life depended on controlling every situation, to make such an overture of trust. "Thanks," he said, meaning it. "But it's not necessary. Thad and I aren't exactly close. I doubt it'll be a very maudlin affair."

They trooped out to the kitchen together. From the way Jay and Kim stopped talking the instant Tyler entered the room, he knew they had been talking about him.

Kim hurried over to give him a hug. "Okay?" she asked, searching his tear-streaked face.

"Yeah. Just hormonal," Tyler answered playfully. She smacked him on the shoulder. He looked around the room, wondering why only Jay and Kim were there. "Where's Liz?"

"Downstairs," Jay replied. He looked decidedly uncomfortable, and Tyler suspected Liz had unloaded on the two of them about how impossible Tyler had been to live with for the past month. "I think she needs a little bit of time alone."

_In other words, she doesn't want to see me right now, because I keep making a total ass out of myself._

Tyler had a bad feeling that he was screwing things up between him and Liz irrevocably. Yet just as he did not have time to sort out his feelings for Will at the moment, he also didn't have time to focus on his love-life. He needed to find out what his brother wanted, and if it involved the Fourth Branch or not.

"Here goes," he muttered, sitting down at the computer again. He noticed that someone had attached a web-cam with a microphone to the side of the laptop. "What do I do?"

Will leaned over Tyler's shoulder and typed rapidly on the keyboard. In a moment, he leaned back and announced, "Okay, it's establishing a secure connection…Yup, there you go."

On the screen, a live web-cam feed of a ritzy-looking hotel room appeared. No one was in view. Tyler glanced helplessly at the others, uncertain of what to do. Will mouthed, _Wait a second._

Suddenly, as if an alarm had gone off somewhere in the room, a figure came rushing toward the computer. Breathless, Thad dropped into a chair in front of his own web-cam. "Tyler?" he stared at the screen as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "Ty, is it really you?"

"Except no substitute," Tyler joked. His little brother looked terrible: He was pale, and his eyes were ringed with dark circles. "You okay?"

"I should be asking you." Thad offered a quavering smile. Then he turned serious. "Listen, the guy who helped me with all of this, he said you shouldn't tell me where you are."

Will coughed quietly. Tyler took the hint: _Don't rise to the bait and offer to tell him._

"That's probably a good idea," Tyler agreed. "So…What did Dad's message say?"

Thad looked on the verge of tears again. "Ty, I've been so furious with you ever since the Drexler. Dad kept telling me you weren't involved, but I thought…I'm sorry, I really thought he was just doing damage-control. And then, when he…" Thad couldn't seem to say "when he was murdered," so he simply pressed on with the words unspoken. "I wanted to kill you myself, Ty. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. You couldn't have known." Tyler suddenly wished he had taken Will up on his offer of privacy. Perhaps this was going to be a more personal conversation than he had anticipated.

But Thad quickly became business-like once more. "When Dad's will was read a couple of days ago, the lawyer played a video he had sent to him the day before he was arrested at his club. At first I thought it was some kind of sick joke, or a trick, but I could tell it wasn't. Dad was too serious."

"Thad," Tyler broke in. "I want you to tell me exactly what the message said."

As it turned out, Carlton's video message to his youngest son had revealed everything that he had eventually told Tyler and his friends following his "rescue" from Baltimore. While he hadn't offer up any hard proof of his claims, he had, Thad relayed, insisted that Thad help his brother once Carlton was no longer around to do it.

"He told me to stay as far away from these Fourth Branch people as possible, not to believe anything they told me about him or the government or you," Thad concluded.

Will tapped Tyler's shoulder. Scooting to one side so his friend could join him in front of the camera, Tyler told Thad, "This is Will."

"Will Traveler, I know." Thad smiled uncertainly, as if he wasn't sure Will was a friend. "Hi."

"Thad, listen to me." Will dispensed with formalities, and Tyler heard the concern in his voice. "You keep saying someone has been helping you set all of this up. Who is this person?"

A deep, gravelly voice suddenly sounded off-screen. "Mind if I join in, Thad?"

"Not at all. Go ahead."

Thad shifted to one side. Moments later, a handsome, powerfully-built black man, impeccably clad in an Armani suit, sat down in front of the camera. Tyler had no idea who he was, but Will seemed to recognize him instantly: He froze like a deer caught in headlights.

"Tyler, Will. May I assume Jay is there with you as well? My name is Andrew Kensington. I'm the Director of the Internal Affairs Branch of the CIA," the man announced. "It's good to see you alive and well."

Will kicked Tyler under the table, silently warning him not to say a word. Tyler had no problem obeying: He didn't know what to think about his little brother sitting next to Kate's boss, who in all likelihood was a member of the Branch himself. Tyler had a terrible feeling that, whether his brother was in on the plot or not, he had just screwed them all over royally.

"Will, I've had reports that one of my operatives, Kaitlyn Westbrook, is working with you," Kensington continued smoothly. "If that's true, I would really like to speak with her."

Face expressionless, Will answered, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Kensington sighed, obviously unconvinced. "All right. I know you have no reason to trust me, especially not after all the three of you have been through. But you should know this," Kensington's voice deepened even further, conveying how serious he was. "I'm on your side. I want to clear Jay and Tyler's names and bring all of you in safely, where the Fourth Branch can't get to you. I knew your father, Tyler, though you may not be aware of that. I want his death avenged as much as you do, and I want to see his sons safe."

Tyler stayed quiet. Although earlier he had been enraged that Will always asserted himself as their leader, in a situation like this, he was more than willing to let Will take the lead.

"We're doing okay on our own right now, thanks," Will answered tersely.

"Will, I can help you," Kensington insisted.

"We don't need your help." Will's tone left no more room for discussion. He turned to Tyler and said sternly, "Say good-bye to your brother and sign off. Now."

Glancing back at the screen as he stood, Will added to Kensington, "I think you know a little something about how I was trained, Mr. Kensington. So I'm giving you fair warning: If you try to contact us anymore, I swear I will take us all so far underground you'll never see so much as our shadows again. We clear?"

Obviously not a man accustomed to being given orders, Kensington nodded stiffly. Though he looked as if he had a few choice words for Will, "understood" was all he permitted himself to say.

Thad's face came back into full view, chalk-white and frightened. "Ty? Ty, I haven't put you in more danger, have I?"

_Yes, but it's not your fault, so don't worry about it…_

"No," Tyler lied, because it was the kind thing to do and Thad was, after all, his little brother, even if he did tend to be a huge prat most of the time. "We just have to be careful who we trust, is all."

Silently, Tyler tried to convey with his eyes, _And you have to be, too, little bro._

He thought he saw a glimmer of understanding in Thad's eyes, though the connection was too grainy for him to say with any certainty. "I will be," Thad promised. He lowered his voice slightly. "I won't try to contact you again, Ty, if it's not safe for you. But I want you to promise me that if you need anything, you'll get in touch with me."

Knowing he would never do so, Tyler nevertheless made the promise. Thad went on, "I'm not going to rest until I clear your name, I swear on Dad's grave, Tyler. These people are going to pay for what they've done to our family. You're going to be home really soon, I just know it."

Tyler felt more brotherly affection for Thad at that moment than he had since they were very small boys, before competing for their father's attention had driven such a wedge between them. "Thanks, Thad. I love you."

"I love you, too. 'Bye."

The screen went dark. Tyler's heart caught in his throat: What if Kensington decided to kill his brother because he could be of no more use? What if Carlton's involvement with the Fourth Branch ended up destroying both of his son's lives?

Will was pacing. Jay looked ready to join him. Kim, seated on the counter, was as pale as Thad had been.

It was Kim who finally gave voice to the fear in all their hearts. "Is Kate walking into a trap?"

Will stopped pacing and shut his eyes. "I don't know."

Jay latched onto the sliver of hope in that response. "But it's possible, isn't it, that Kensington really wants to help us? I mean, Franklin told Stone and Marlow that Kensington is Branch but not Freed's kind of Branch. And if he's working with Tyler's brother, maybe he really does want to see us get out of this alive."

Will opened his eyes, apparently conquering whatever emotions had threatened to overcome him. "The problem is, even if Kensington doesn't like what the other members are doing, he isn't going to want us to expose the Branch's existence. Kate has to be able to convince him that we don't intend to do that so long as the Branch cooperates with our demands. And if Kensington is in deep enough to figure out a way to contact us…"

He didn't have to go on. They all knew how that statement ended: If Kensington could reach them through one of the secure servers Kate had established for their group's communication, which was how Thad's message had gotten to Tyler in the first place, then he could probably have figured out what they were doing with regards to amassing evidence against the Branch. That meant the moment Kate put her head above water, she was likely to get it blown off, before she could offer any explanations.

"But he doesn't know where she is," Tyler mused aloud. Like Jay, he was clinging to the smallest snatches of hope. "He thought she was here with us. That's good, isn't it? It means she could still get to him and have a chance to tell him what we're doing before he…you know….?"

"We have to get moving." Will seemed unwilling to discuss Kate's fate. "It's not safe here anymore; we could have been compromised. Let's get out stuff and go."

"Go where?" Kim asked.

"We'll head toward D.C. Whether Kate's successful or not, we have to move forward with the plan."

Tyler felt like he should offer some sort of apology to the group for creating such a mess. Will had tried to warn him not to listen to Thad's message; if he had taken that advice, if he had refused to make contact with someone outside of their small circle, they would not be in even more danger now.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, stopping all of them in mid-step. "You were right, Will. I shouldn't have listened to that message. I should have known it would be a trap."

Jay stepped forward and clapped his hand on Tyler's shoulder, looking hard into Tyler's eyes. "We don't know that it was a trap, Tyler. We're just being overly cautious. Right, Will?"

Will nodded, though his expression told a different story.

Turning back to Tyler, Jay offered, "At least you know your dad really was trying to help you. In my book, it's worth whatever happens just for you to have that peace of mind."

For the first time in a month, a true sense of happiness spread through Tyler. Jay was right: Carlton had been trying to save his son, and he had obviously thought about it coming down to sacrificing his very life to do so or he wouldn't have left that message for Thad. Knowing the truth of his father's love for him finally pierced the haze of grief that had surrounded Tyler since Carlton's death.

On the heels of that happiness came a renewed sense of purpose, a rejuvenation of Tyler's willingness to fight these people who had taken so much from him. He was not going to lie down and accept whatever fate the Fourth Branch handed him, Tyler decided. He was going to take his life back. He was going to clear the Fog family name, for his brother's sake as well as his own. He was going to make his father proud.

**Part 4**

Kate hadn't realized how much she had missed Washington, D.C., until she drove back into the city she had called home for ten years. Seeing the Capitol Hill crowd rushing around in the early August heat, seeing the tourists swarming the landmarks and the memorials, she was overcome by a desire to step back into her life here.

_I meant what I told Will in Miami: I don't think I can walk away from this. The CIA has been my life. This is home._

Kate had ulterior motives for wanting to speak to Andrew Kensington – motives she hadn't shared with Will, because, to be honest, he hadn't put her in a sharing mood for the past month. Oh, she had no intention of betraying Will, Tyler or Jay; she would die first, she had already made that decision (and knew she might have to live up to it). But she wasn't just interested in the help Kensington could offer them in stopping the biological attack and clearing Jay and Tyler's names, either. She also wanted to know if she still had a future with the Agency – if Kensington was someone she could continue working for, even if he did have ties to the Branch.

She was in D.C. to secure her own future as well as her friends'.

Getting close to Kensington wasn't easy, of course: He was a high-ranking CIA official and an extremely private man. But for ten years, Kate had arranged clandestine meetings with Kensington knowing that if they were seen together, she probably wouldn't make it back to her apartment alive. So, out of necessity, she had gotten very, very adept at sneaking into his limousine or even his house when she needed to speak with him.

Late in the evening on the day she had left Pennsylvania, Kate decked herself out entirely in black: yoga pants, long-sleeved tee-shirt, skullcap, leather gloves, and combat boots. Looking like the picture of a highway-robber, she stole quickly and quietly through back alleys to the rear entrance of the private high-rise garage where Kensington's car service was based. As she had countless times before, she slipped through a tear in the chain-link fence separating the garage from the alley, ascended a scarcely-used side stairwell to the fourth level, and hunkered down behind a large dumpster to wait for Kensington's call to come in.

Although it was nearly one in the morning, she strongly suspected Kensington was still at the office and would soon be wanting a ride home. If he wasn't, well, she would camp out all night and wait for him to call for a car in the morning. She had done it before.

This time, luck was on Kate's side: She had hardly gotten settled in when the phone inside the small office to her left jangled. She heard a man pick it up, heard him say, "Yes, Director Kensington, we'll be there in five minutes. Thanks."

_Am I good or am I good?_

Thoroughly pleased with herself, Kate stole around to the other side of the dumpster so that the metal behemoth blocked her from the office's view. Crouched low in her dark clothes, with her blonde hair tucked carefully into a bun underneath the skullcap, she blended in so perfectly with the shadows that the chauffer who backed the limousine up in front of the office (following the same protocol the drivers had followed for ten years, she was relieved to note) never saw her.

When the driver stepped into the office to get his route directions from the dispatcher, Kate crept out from hiding. She eased the back driver's side door open just enough to slide her slender body inside, and stretched out on her back on the floorboards. Slipping the tip of her boot under the inside door-handle, she pulled the door closed behind her with hardly a click, certainly nothing that could be heard with the limo's engine running.

She melted into the black upholstery as the driver, oblivious to his cargo, climbed behind the wheel and headed for the main offices of the Central Intelligence Agency.

Careful not to make any big movements that might attract attention, Kate slid her .9 millimeter from the waistband of her pants and laid it across her stomach, gripping the handle so she didn't lose hold of the weapon as they bounced over the occasionally pot-hole-ridden D.C. streets. Though she had used this method many times before when meeting with Kensington, she had never done so with a loaded weapon in hand. Despite what she had told Will, she truly hoped it did not come down to shooting Kensington. She would if she had to, but she very much wanted her old boss to prove himself the man she had always thought him to be.

The drive was short, since the parking garage was fairly close to CIA headquarters. Kate made herself as small as possible as the driver opened the back passenger's side door for Kensington. She prepared herself for him to cry out in surprise. In spite of how many times he had found her waiting in his limo, however, Kensington climbed into the car with his eyes and his attention focused on his Blackberry.

Kate waited until the driver shut the door but before he had gotten back into the car to lightly touch Kensington's ankle. She held her breath as she did so: Moment of truth, he could burn her right here and it would all get extremely complicated…

Kensington jumped at her touch. She saw absolute shock on his face as he stared down at her, and for a split-second, she knew he was going to tell the driver to call for help. Instead, he quickly regained control of himself and said in his deep, measured tones, "Trevor, would you mind to put the screen in place, please? I need to make some calls."

"Sure thing, Mr. Kensington. I'll have you home in half an hour." Trevor, the driver, pushed a button that raised the sound-proof, blacked-out glass separating the front seat from the back.

The moment the glass was in place, Kate sat up and moved fluidly into the seat beside Kensington, letting him get a good look at the pistol she had trained on him. "Hello, Andrew."

"Hello, Kaitlyn. Good to see you alive." Kensington refused to stare at the gun; he was a former operative himself, not to mention a Marine, and he did not scare easily. "I have to say, I'm surprised to see you. I thought you'd written us off as your enemies."

"I thought I'd give you a chance to explain yourself."

Kensington carefully shifted so he could look directly at her. His eyes were searching; she sensed his confusion and wondered what had happened that she didn't know about.

"Are you here because of Thad Fog?"

His question baffled her, but Kate was too good of an operative to show it. She answered smoothly, "I'm going to be the one asking the questions tonight, Andrew. So how about you tell me why you think I'm here."

Smiling a little, Kensington mused, "Kaitlyn Westbrook, always a superior agent."

"Thank you. Now talk."

"Well, Kaitlyn, to be honest, I'm not sure why you're here," Kensington rejoined, his voice as smooth and even as hers. "I've been trying to contact you for five weeks now, ever since I found out Traveler didn't actually kill you and dump your body in some farmer's pond. You've elected not to respond to a single one of my messages. You finally left me with no choice but to involve a civilian – Thad Fog, Tyler Fog's younger brother."

Kate said nothing. She wanted to hear the whole tale before she commented, so she could decide how much of her story to give away.

Seeing that she didn't mean to respond, Kensington continued, "A few days ago, Carlton Fog's will was read. One of his attorneys tipped me off that part of the will contained a video message for Thad – a message that described Carlton's involvement with the Fourth Branch in detail, and also insisted on Tyler's innocence in the Drexler bombing. I knew Thad would want to contact his brother – I was an old acquaintance of Carlton's, you know, we went to prep school together – so I decided to attach my star to his and see what came of it.

"And sure enough, just this morning Tyler Fog and Will Traveler made contact with Thad," Kensington finished. "I was in his hotel room at the time – I've put him up at the Four Seasons where he's guarded round the clock, for his own protection. Oh, I should tell you, I had a chance to speak with Traveler. He's just as impressive as you always said, by the way."

_You have no idea, you really don't…_

Refusing to be side-tracked by thoughts of Will, Kate realized that the message Marlow had referred to must have been from Thad. She studied Kensington, trying to get a bead on how honest he was being with her. "So you used Thad Fog to try to find out where his brother and Jay and Will are. I take it you weren't able to find out their location."

"I had a feeling you wouldn't let Fog open the file without checking it for a tracing program first, if you really were with them, so I didn't even bother adding one to it.. I thought if I could just talk to Burchell and Fog, I could convince them that I'm here to help them. Maybe even talk them into giving me their location, or perhaps coming in voluntarily. But that didn't work out," Kensington admitted.

They had come to the crux of the matter. Kate challenged, "You said 'convince' them that you want to help. Is that really the truth, Andrew? Or are you part of the Fourth Branch and looking to take these boys out?"

Kensington blanched: Kate could see instantly that he had not expected her to know of his involvement with the Branch. His reaction told her that it was true.

"There are a lot of things about the Branch you need to understand, Kaitlyn," Kensington answered slowly, apparently realizing the precariousness of his situation as Kate's finger moved to the trigger of her .9 millimeter. "The most important thing is, not all of us agree with men like Jack Freed and Maxwell Abrams about the way the Branch should conduct itself. In fact, a good many of us, like President Shears and Carlton Fog and myself, believe the Branch should act only as a support system for the government, which should enact the will of the people.

"That was how the Branch started, from the moment this country was founded, practically. It was never intended to be a shadow government or a tyrannical secret society, a bunch of rich old men sitting in smoke-filled rooms twisting their mustaches and deciding the fate of the world. It was supposed to be people with wealth, privilege and power ensuring that the hard decisions got made – that the wars were fought, the treaties were signed, the bombs were dropped, the money was spent – all for the good of the people, not for the profit of a few."

"Spare me the civics lecture," Kate interrupted. She knew Kensington well enough to know when he was stalling; the driver had said thirty minutes, and they had been talking for ten. "The first thing I want to know is: Has a single report that I've given you ever made its way into the CIA, or have you used me as your own personal spy against Jack Freed just like he used Will and the other Hometown agents for his own aims?"

Abashed, Kensington did not try to deny it. "I'm sorry, Kaitlyn. I recruited you because I knew you could do the job. You're the best deep-cover operative I've ever worked with. I hated lying to you, but I knew if I told you to report to me and only to me, you would."

It took a tremendous amount of self-control for Kate not to smash the handle of her gun into Kensington's face. She suddenly understood how Will must have felt when he learned, after losing Maya and practically losing his own life, that he was not working for the FBI at all.

_We were both duped, both used, by these arrogant assholes who think they have the right to run other people's lives…_

"So I've been working for the Branch." Kate concentrated on breathing evenly to hold her temper in check. "For ten years, I've been working for the people you told me I was helping to bring down."

"No," Kensington protested firmly. "You've been working for me, Kaitlyn, and that is not the same thing as working for the Branch. Don't you understand? Those members, like myself, who don't want to see acts of terror committed on American soil just so things like the Patriot Act can stay in place are, unfortunately, not the most powerful members of the Branch. Do you think Jack Freed was the only person behind the Drexler bombing? Freed wasn't even close to the top of this organization. He was just one small cog in a very big, very powerful machine.

"So yes, I've had to lie and deceive and do a thousand other things I'm not proud of to fight men like Freed who want to see 'blood in the streets,' to quote Mr. Fog's 'manifesto.'" Kensington leaned forward, having become so impassioned that, for a moment, he seemed to forget the gun Kate had trained on him. "Everything that you found out about Jack Freed and Project Hometown has been used to hold people like him in check. I swear to you, Kaitlyn, you may not have been working for the CIA, but you were working toward the goals that I said you were when I recruited you for this op: Keeping the American people safe and free."

His words rang true to her, yet after ten years of lies, Kate didn't know how she could believe him. "Sit back," she ordered.

Becoming aware of the gun again, Kensington complied. Although she had gotten a rise out of him, which was satisfying to her ego if not exactly helpful to her cause, Kate knew Kensington was still playing his cards pretty close to the chest. He hadn't, for instance, yet mentioned the Shears' family art collection or the map it supposedly contained, which were the ostensible reasons Will had become involved with Jay and Tyler in the first place.

Determined to get some real answers, Kate decided to reveal a few of her cards as she moved on to her second-most important question: "I know Will's mission was really all about keeping President Shears and his family from accessing a map supposedly hidden on the canvas of one of their historic paintings. I know Freed originally intended for Will to assassinate the president and frame Jay and Tyler for it before he found out he could just destroy the painting by blowing up the Drexler. What I'm trying to work out, Andrew, is how you could have run the risk of Will actually killing the president. How could you not let me bring him in, if you really wanted to stop Freed and protect the American people?"

"I've told you, the agents in Hometown were, so far as I knew, completely brainwashed," Kensington replied patiently. "I knew a great deal about their training because I knew the man who oversaw it."

"Tyrese Franklin," Kate realized.

"That's right. So no matter how infatuated you were with Traveler – " Kate knew her face turned scarlet at that little dig " – I couldn't risk you telling him that you worked for me. Not only for your safety, which was paramount, of course. But if he had gone to Freed with my name, the Branch would have had me shot as a traitor."

"So you were protecting yourself," Kate shot back at him, still stinging from the infatuation comment. "And that was more important than protecting the president?"

"Thanks to you, we were watching Traveler's every move very closely," Kensington reminded her. His trademark cool seemed to be melting; Kate could tell he did not like having his patriotism questioned. She was glad she had gotten under his skin a little.

He went on, "We would never have allowed Traveler to kill the president, I hope you can believe that. But knowing the lengths Freed was willing to go to in order to destroy the threat the painting posed to the Branch gave our side an idea: If we let him believe he had succeeded, that the painting and the Shears family were no longer a danger, then we could finally see if Arlen Shears had actually hidden a map behind that painting."

_This is starting to sound pretty damn familiar…_

In fact, thus far Kensington's story was matching up blow-by-blow with the information Carlton Fog had given them after his "rescue." Kate considered what that could mean: One, that the story was true; two, that Carlton and Kensington were working together on some unknown plot and had gotten their stories straight before putting it into action; or three, that the Branch had decided to use this as their very believable cover-story in order to convince Will, Jay and Tyler that there were actually good guys amongst the Branch. She was sure other options existed, but at the moment, those were the three most probable she could come up with.

But Kate had an ace up her sleeve: Unlike Kensington, she knew that whether the painting and the secure server it supposedly led to existed or not, Will had enough evidence amassed to bring the Fourth Branch to its knees.

Aware that their time together was running short, Kate came to her final question. "Are you so determined to bring Jay and Tyler and Will in because you want this painting back?"

Kensington did the smart thing: He told the truth. If he hadn't, Kate had every intention of shooting him in the head right then and there. She supposed he knew that.

"Traveler told Chambers that the real painting is still out there, and that Carlton Fog knew where it was. I'm not sure I believe that," he admitted, "but it's a risk the members can't run, that the existence of the Branch might be revealed to the American public and that we might all be painted as traitors for our involvement with it."

This was no less than what Kate had anticipated. "What if I told you that the painting has been destroyed, but that the thing you're all so afraid of – evidence of the Branch's illegal activities being gathered together – is still a very real threat?"

A pulse appeared in Kensington's temple. Whether it was from fear or anger, Kate couldn't tell. His voice, quiet and somber, gave nothing away. "Then I would say, Kaitlyn, that you and your friends are playing a very dangerous game. The members of the Fourth Branch, myself included, will not sit idly by while our work is exposed. What we do is too important."

"So you would kill Will and me and Jay and Tyler to shut us all up."

"I wouldn't want to, but yes, Kaitlyn, I would."

Kate respected the nerve it took to own up to that while staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. His answer told her more than that Andrew Kensington was as tough as she'd always believed, however; it also told her that Will had been right in believing the Branch would agree to make a deal if they had the right bargaining chip.

"And if what we wanted wasn't to expose the Branch, but to stop an attack far more horrific than the Drexler – far more horrific than Nine-Eleven, even – and to get all of our lives back, would you and the other members of the Branch be willing to negotiate?"

Kensington looked relieved that a deal was going to be put on the table. "I think, in that instance, we could work something out, certainly."

Kate smiled cattily. She didn't know if she bought all the good-members-versus-bad-members stuff Kensington was trying to sell her; she had been more apt to believe it coming from Carlton Fog, but then, he could have been lied to himself. Nevertheless, it didn't really matter whether the Branch was actually fighting its own internal war so long as their ultimate goal was to keep their dirty little secrets safe. If that was what Kensington and his fellow Branch members really wanted, then Kate was ready to discuss terms.

"Tell your driver to take the scenic route from here, Andrew," Kate instructed, lowering her gun to her lap for the first time during their conversation. "I want to pick your brain about a nasty little second-cousin of anthrax named 'Morbus' that I recently discovered. And then I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse."


	10. Chapter 10

**Episode 10:**

"**Captivity"**

_Author's Note: Part 3 of this "episode" portrays a torture scene. In keeping with the spirit of the show, I have tried not to make the scene overly graphic, but be forewarned that it is more graphic than other "episodes."_

**Part 1**

Will knew he shouldn't have been, but when Kate finally sent him an email describing her meet with Kensington, he was somewhat pleased to discover that he wasn't the only one who had been played for a fool. It seemed the Fourth Branch made a habit of training operatives for their own purposes, and then lying about what those purposes were.

Standing outside a record shop in Crystal City, Virginia, watching men and women in business attire hurry in and out of cafes and diners for lunch, Will reflected that perhaps he felt drawn to Kate because their backgrounds were so similar. Not that he'd known she was Branch, anymore than she had. But perhaps she had suspected it, as he had long ago begun to suspect that Hometown was not quite what it claimed to be, even though he would never in his wildest dreams have imagined it was Jack Freed's personal army. And perhaps that suspicion had made them kindred spirits even before she learned the truth.

He would ask her whether she'd harbored any doubts about her assignment, he decided, if they all made it out of this alive.

At the moment, Will was watching for the Branch representatives he, Jay and Tyler were meeting with to arrive at their pre-determined location: an empty office suite adjacent to a copy center and a laundromat in the busy Crystal City downtown. He was seeing to it that whichever two representatives the Branch sent, they followed the plan and didn't try to spring a trap.

Will had positioned Jay inside the laundromat and Tyler in their newly-stolen Honda in the alley behind the strip mall. Kate was in the trusty Ford Explorer on the upper deck of a parking garage across the street, from where, with a pair of high-powered binoculars that were also equipped with heat sensors and night-vision, she could keep an eye on things while the others were inside. It was good to be equipped by the CIA again, she had told Will happily, holding the binoculars up like a new toy.

Upon arriving at the seedy roadside motel just outside D.C. where the group had spent the night – by the time Kate contacted him, Will already had them near the city, having abandoned the Pennsylvania safehouse following his chat with Kensington – Kate had explained that the plan was quite simple. From his limo, Kensington had called several Branch members whom (he claimed) were as oblivious to the Morbus plot as he was and would definitely want it stopped. After taking advice from them, he had called Maxwell Abrams, the CEO of Fallbrook Dunn, and told him that Will, Jay and Tyler claimed to have evidence that could send Branch members, including Abrams, to death row, but they were willing to deal. Kensington hadn't mentioned that he whole-heartedly supported what Will was doing, naturally; whether he did or not, Will understood that Kensington was in a tight spot, playing both sides off one another to stay alive. It was a position Will could appreciate.

In short, the Branch had agreed to the meet, and Kate had arranged things to be as safe for their group as she possibly could. Will knew they were all thinking about the last time they had attempted a peaceful exchange with the Branch; they had no guarantees this encounter would not go the same way. But, seeing as how they had little choice, no one had suggested backing out at this point.

Kim had not liked being left behind at the motel, but for once, Jay had stood firm. "There's no reason for all of us to be there," he had insisted, with Will backing him up. "If something goes wrong and we get caught, somebody has to be left to keep trying to stop this biological attack, right?"

Unable to assail that logic, Kim had grudgingly agreed to stay behind. Liz, Will had noted, did not seem particularly eager to throw herself in harm's way again. He sensed that the budding romance between her and Tyler was pretty seriously on the rocks.

"Here we go," Will muttered, mostly to himself, as an approaching black sedan signaled his spy-senses that the enemy was nigh. Speaking quietly out of the corner of his mouth so as not to attract attention, he said just loudly enough for the others could hear him in their earpieces, "I've got a vehicle approaching…Okay, this is definitely it. Jay, can you see how many people are inside?"

Seated by the laundromat's front window with a red cap pulled low over his eyes, Jay was visible to Will from where he stood and also had a clear view of the street in front of their rendezvous point. "Looks like a driver up-front, but the windows are tinted too dark for me to see in the back," he admitted. "Wait, someone's getting out – it's Chambers and Abrams. You seeing this, Will?"

Will was. "Any movement back there, Tyler?" he inquired of his friend in the alley, watching Abrams and Chambers stand awkwardly in front of the empty office suite.

_Let 'em sweat for a minute. Set the tone for who's in charge._

"All clear," Tyler replied.

"Kate?"

"I don't see anything suspicious from up here, but I'll keep my eyes peeled," she replied from her high-rise perch. "I'm scanning inside the office suite now…The heat sensors aren't picking anyone up…Nope, nobody in there. You guys are good to go."

So they went. Will started across the street, which was Jay's cue to slip out the side door of the laundromat, meet Tyler in the alley, and enter the office suite through the back.

Chambers spotted Will first and stiffened. "Hi, Max. Hi, Fred," Will greeted them cockily. He didn't actually feel very confident, but he knew appearances were everything in this sort of op: He who assumed control usually kept control. To Chambers, he added, "How's the arm?"

Chambers glared at him without responding. Will opened the front door, which was already unlocked, and motioned for the men to step inside.

Anticipating the change from the bright sunlight to the building's dim interior, Will had worn a pair of sunglasses so his eyes would have no trouble adjusting. Chambers and Abrams had not; they stood dazed for a moment, waiting for their vision to clear. That was enough time for Will to snatch the Colt .45 out of Chambers' hip holster. Abrams did not appear to be packing, although Will would not have bet his life on the man being unarmed.

"Hey," Chambers protested.

Will moved away from them in a wide curve, heading for the center of the large, empty room. Jay and Tyler had slipped quietly in the back and were standing there, eyeing their opponents warily.

"Just making sure things stay friendly, Fred," Will soothed the agent's ruffled feathers. He kept the gun on them, though, as he continued, "Now, let's talk about how much you two and all your friends don't want to go to federal prison."

Some tough talking ensued: Chambers insisted that the Branch could plausibly deny any evidence Will might have, which was of course a ploy to find out just what they did have. Understanding how the game was played, Will had Jay, who was carrying a backpack containing copies of some of their evidence, play recordings of phone conversations between Abrams, Buchanan, Drummond, Chambers, and other Branch members; meanwhile, Chambers and Abrams perused the photographs and electronic records Will's team had gathered over the past month, each piece of evidence adding up to a more damning whole. Still, Chambers said when they had seen all Will was willing to show them at the moment, they didn't have a single piece of evidence that couldn't have been doctored or forged.

Will loved having an ace in the hole. "That's true," he answered agreeably. "Except for one thing: We have a sample of Morbus."

Chambers and Abrams gaped at him like he had just sprouted wings. "You do not," Chambers finally offered weakly.

Will thought about saying, _Do too, _but that would just have been petty. "Actually, Fred, I do. Bluish-colored powder, looks a little bit like laundry detergent? That sound close? Comes in a neat little black case with 'Belenus Pharmaceuticals' printed on the side, too. Probably be a collector's item someday, you know, part of the biggest scandal of the twenty-first century."

His threat of exposure was well-placed. Chambers shifted uneasily. "Assuming that we were to make a deal with you," he said, "what assurances would we have that you would actually hand over all of this evidence? Or that you wouldn't have already sent a copy to the press?"

_So now we're dealing._

Kate's voice in Will's ear gave him pause, however. "Something's not right, Will. I've counted four men watching your building from across the street, all of them trying to blend in. And now I've got a van approaching down the alley."

Will didn't hesitate: They couldn't risk being trapped. "I guess you won't be getting any assurances from me today, Fred, because it appears you two didn't keep your end of the deal," Will announced. Jay and Tyler, having heard Kate's report in their own comms, were on his heels as he started for the door. Normally one for quiet exits, Will wanted the busy street for protection in this instance, so he headed for the front rather than the back.

Will didn't make many mistakes. Unfortunately, going out the front proved to be one.Chambers and Abrams made no attempt to stop them – probably a smart move on their part, considering both Will and Jay now had guns trained on them. Will grasped the handle of the glass front door and started to shove outward; just as he did so, someone – someone who had most likely been waiting for that moment – pushed the door roughly toward him from the other side.

Will felt his nose crack as the door connected squarely with his face. Stumbling back into the room, he was momentarily blinded as his eyes watered with pain. In the span of seconds, the Fourth Branch gained the upper-hand: The four men Kate had spotted outside swarmed into the room from the front, while six more men poured in through the back door. Surrounded, Will, Jay and Tyler stood in a loose circle near the front door, Jay still pointing his gun at Chambers and Abrams.

"Give it up, Traveler. It's over."

Blinking to clear his vision and swiping blood away from his busted nose, Will already knew to whom that voice belonged: Tyrese Franklin. He had heard it several times over the phone in the past month.

"You!" Tyler cried, indignant. "You were supposed to be helping us!"

"I told you before, kid, it's nothing personal." Franklin aimed a .9 millimeter at Jay's head. "Put the gun on the floor, son, and kick it to me. Trust me, Traveler is not worth dying for."

"Screw you." Jay's gun-hand never wavered, nor did he take his eyes off Chambers and Abrams. "Go ahead and shoot me if you want, but I'm taking one of them down with me."

Will had to hand it to Jay, he had guts. "I don't think we're going to come quietly, Franklin," he commented to the man who had been responsible for his training. "And anyway, what good is it going to do you to kill us? You know we have other people working with us, people who can still bring all of our evidence to light. You might want to check in with your buddies over at Justice, actually. I think they've heard a pretty interesting story about you all lately."

Franklin smiled almost sympathetically at Will. "You mean Otis Whaley? He's dead. I took care of him myself, this morning. Harold Stone needs to learn the meaning of 'witness protection.'"

"Without Whaley alive, his testimony isn't going to carry much weight." Abrams spoke for the first time during the entire incident. "His story had a lot of holes in it – holes big enough to permit reasonable doubt, at the very least.

"And as for killing you," he went on, "don't be silly, Will. We're going to let you and your friends take responsibility for your terrorist actions. You're going to confess to creating the People's Militia and inaugurating your organization by blowing up the Drexler. And you're going to tell us where this evidence you say you have is hidden, so we can clear up that little problem well before your trials."

With ten armed men closing in on him, Will was finding it difficult to make witty banter, but he tried to sound calm for his friends' sakes. _C'mon, Kate, _he silently pleaded, knowing she could hear everything that was happening, _get your ass in here already and save us!_

_Unless Kensington double-crossed her, and she's dead out there. Or maybe she double-crossed you, and she's laughing her head off right now at what a gullible idiot you are…_

Ordering himself to focus, Will rejoined, "Sounds like you're expecting quite a few favors out of us, Max. How exactly do you plan on extracting those?"

"Piece by piece, if I have to." Abrams' voice was ice-cold: It had the desired effect on Jay and Tyler, who shivered, though Will was well-trained enough not to react. "You see, Will, I know you can withstand torture – I've seen your training videos, quite impressive. I suppose we'll torture you anyway, just because you've given us a lot of headaches over the past seven weeks, but we're going to start with your friends here and let you watch. Our psych profiles tell us that will be the most expedient way to secure your cooperation."

"How many people have to die before you realize that you can't fight us, Will?" Chambers was now playing good cop to Abrams' bad cop. "Just put the guns down and let's talk. Nobody has to be tortured – "

Whatever else Chambers was going to promise was interrupted by Kate's grand entrance: Saying, "Hold your breaths," into the boys' earpieces, she kicked open the back door and tossed in a smoke grenade.

All around them, agents dropped their weapons as their eyes watered and their lungs filled with smoke. Forewarned, Jay, Tyler and Will avoided drawing in a lung-full of the acrid fumes; this gave them a momentary advantage, and Will took it. Eyes burning from the thick fog gathering around them, he grasped Jay's and Tyler's elbows and steered them in what he hoped was the direction of the back door.

His chest burned with the need to draw breath by the time Will shoved them through the door into the fresh air of the alleyway. "Come on," he ordered, pushing his friends ahead of him toward the Explorer, which Kate had left running. She was sliding behind the wheel. "Go!"

The door behind them burst open and a spray of gunfire sent Will, Jay and Tyler scattering in all directions. Landing belly-down on the pavement hard enough to wind himself, Will rolled over and returned fire, unsurprised somehow to find that Tyrese Franklin was the shooter: Franklin was far too tough to be out-done by a smoke bomb.

"Go!" Will shouted at Jay and Tyler again, seeing them cowering at opposite ends of the Explorer. "Get in the goddamn car, now!"

Tyler obeyed instantly, running around to jump in the passenger's side, but Jay hesitated. Will knew what he was thinking, because Will was thinking it to: _I'm pinned down. If I give up my position, they'll capture us all._

Still squeezing off rounds at the door to hold Franklin and his comrades at bay, Will called over his shoulder to Jay, "Think about Kim, Jay! You've got to get out of here. Just go, I'll be fine!"

He heard a car door slam. "Go," Kate was yelling at Jay as well. "We've got this, go!"

"Dammit, Kate, get back in the car," Will snarled as she crouched down beside him, firing at the back door while he reloaded.

"Shut-up and focus," Kate snapped back. "We have to get out of this alley before – "

Too late. Just as Jay and Tyler roared out of the alley into the heavy noontime traffic, causing an eruption of blaring horns and squealing tires, another white van came barreling down the alley from the other side. Agents began streaming out of the back doors of the laundromat and the copy center as well.

They were trapped.

Will glanced at Kate. The question in her eyes was unmistakable: Give up or fight back?

"Drop the gun now, Traveler, or I put a bullet in her head." Franklin had stepped into the alley and was pointing his pistol directly at Kate's forehead. When Will hesitated, he demanded, "You want to be responsible for two girlfriends' deaths?"

_I'm going to kill you, all of you, I swear to God…_

Burning with impotent rage, Will dropped his gun. Franklin immediately swung his pistol toward Will and told Kate, "Your turn, honey. Drop it or watch me blow that handsome face off."

Kate didn't hesitate: She dropped her weapon.

Agents descended on them, hauling them to their feet and cuffing their hands behind their backs. Will refused to let himself be frightened. They were captured; whatever happened now, happened. At least Jay and Tyler had gotten away. Hopefully, with Marlow and Stone and (if he hadn't been in on the double-cross) Kensington to help them, they would be able to stop the Morbus attack – somehow.

Chambers strode up to Will and smirked at him. "You know, Traveler, I've been wanting to do this for over a month now," he remarked. Before Will could ask what "this" was, Chambers raised his gun and slammed the handle of it into Will's temple.

The world went dark as Will fell sideways, hearing Kate call his name…

Sometime later, he woke with the odd sensation that he was floating. His head seemed to be disconnected from his body, except where a tendril of pain ran through his skull; his arms seemed to be gone, dead, no longer part of him. Will wondered for one panicky moment if he was already dead, but then his vision slowly cleared, and he saw that he was in fact still alive.

Though shortly, he suspected he would wish that he wasn't.

He couldn't feel his arms because they were tied above his head, Will realized, and had gone to sleep. Tipping his head back – a ribbon of pain unfurled behind his eyes when he moved his neck, causing him to gasp – he saw that his wrists were bound with what appeared to be twine to a long metal pipe running the length of a cavernous room. He assumed the Branch had taken him and Kate to some out-of-the-way location for interrogation, from the looks of the place probably a warehouse.

Somewhere no one would hear their screams.

Will quickly took stock of his situation. He had been stripped to the waist but, aside from a pounding headache, he seemed to be uninjured. Hanging like a slab of meat from a hook was going to get uncomfortable in a hurry, he noted, though he could handle discomfort. It was the mind-numbing pain he wasn't looking forward to.

_You won't tell them anything._

_Even if they torture Kate?_

Well, he hadn't told her the truth about the painting's location when he'd thought she was having Maya tortured, so Will felt fairly confident that he could get through Kate's interrogation somehow without folding. If not…Well, the others would just have to find another way to stop the Branch. He could only do what he could do.

At that moment, a door opened somewhere behind him, and Will heard shuffling footsteps approaching: It sounded like someone was being drug into the room. He steeled himself for what was to come.

"Hello, Will."

_Alex._

His heart sank into his shoes. Alex, whom he had shot and tortured several weeks ago. Alex, whose lover, Vi, he had killed. Alex, who had every reason to want to cause him as much pain as possible.

"Hi, Alex," he said back, managing to sound unconcerned. He watched as Alex and a nameless thug man-handled Kate (who looked unharmed, he was thankful to see) into a straight-backed chair a few feet in front of him. Kate's eyes held an unmistakable glint of fear as the man bound her ankles tightly with rope and Alex strapped her wrists to the chair arms with leather restraints.

_Whatever they do to us, we'll be fine, _Will tried to tell her with his eyes, even though he wasn't sure that was true.

Finishing with Kate, Alex stood and sauntered over to Will, stopping in front of him and walking her fingertips up his bare chest. He refused to flinch away. "Hey, baby," she purred. "Thought you'd killed me, didn't ya?"

_"Don't leave me like this!" _he heard Alex beg. And, because he hadn't wanted to hurt her, he had said simply, _"You're not the one I want."_

Alex seemed to read his thoughts. "Wishing you'd shot me in the face, aren't you?"

"I didn't want to shoot you at all, Alex," he reminded her. "You were going to throw a knife into my chest, remember?"

"Hey, sweetie, I've already forgiven you for what happened between us. It wasn't personal." Alex was wheeling a small metal table around in front of Will – a table stocked with cruel-looking, hooked and curved and sharp implements. Will ignored them: He knew torture tactics well enough to know that the first stage was anticipation, letting the victim see what could be used to hurt him.

"Now, Vi, though, that's a different story. That feels kind of personal." Alex was running her fingers over the shiny scalpels. Selecting a short one, she held it up as if considering what she could slice off of him with it.

"But none of this is personal, is it, Will? It's just our jobs." She placed the scalpel back on the tray and came to stand beside him, turning her eyes on Kate. "I hear this is your new girlfriend, Will. You sure do work fast. Is the other one even cold yet?"

Wishing he could get a hand free to punch her in the face, Will refused to take the bait. Alex might torture him, but she wouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing him affected by whatever she said.

"Kate's my partner, Alex. I realize that means something different to you than it does to me, but for us, that doesn't involve screwing."

Alex laughed, a deep, throaty sound that frightened Will more than if she had shouted at him. "Oh, Will, I forgot how catty you are."

She directed her next words to Kate: "How about you, Beauty? How cold are you?" Reaching up, she grabbed a handful of Will's hair and jerked his head back roughly, causing pain to shoot through his temple again. "Can you watch me take him apart, one pretty little piece at a time? I know how much pain he can withstand. But how much can you watch?"

"You're wasting your time," Will told her hoarsely, his throat stretched so that it was difficult to speak. Alex let go of his hair, and his head fell forward. "She doesn't know where the evidence is. I'm the only who does."

"How interesting. Is that true, Beauty?"

Kate didn't answer. Her eyes were locked onto Will's, as if she were trying to silently warn him of what was getting ready to happen. He suddenly became acutely aware that the nameless thug was somewhere in the room, somewhere behind him where he couldn't see what he was doing.

_Anticipation is the first step in torture. Don't let them get to you._

Will shut down the part of himself that could experience fear. He knew Kate saw his eyes lose their spark; he realized that was what she had intended, for she hadn't wanted him to be caught off-guard where he might give something away at the first shock of pain.

"Well, I guess we'll find out if you're telling the truth or not," Alex shrugged, when it became obvious that Kate didn't mean to answer her. To Will, she said, "You know, honey, I think she really might love you. What do you say we find out how much?"

He heard the tell-tale buzz of something electric starting up seconds before he felt the metal pipe above him begin to vibrate. His mind suddenly made the connection: metal pipe, wire twine on his wrists – he was hooked up to something with enough voltage to cause him a good deal of pain.

Will shut his eyes and tried not to scream as the current crashed into his body.

**Part 2**

Waiting for Tyler, Jay, Will and Kate to make it back from their meeting with the Fourth Branch, Liz thought – not for the first time – that she wasn't cut out for this sort of life. On the heels of that came a rather new but no less nagging thought:

_And I don't want to be._

Liz missed her life. She knew all of them did. Kim frequently described to her all of the different things she saw that she would like to photograph, and Jay always seemed to be grabbing a newspaper to read about First Amendment rights or Supreme Court decisions, and Tyler could never quite pretend not to have one ear cocked whenever the Stock Market report came on. All of them missed the worlds they had struggled to make for themselves, Liz appreciated that. It was just, ever since Tyler had undergone his troubling metamorphosis from really sweet guy to really big jerk half the time, she couldn't stop thinking that she didn't belong here.

Not that the others did. But still, her situation was different; she was involved only by happenstance, not because she had been targeted, like Jay and Tyler, or because she had joined some clandestine operation, like Will and Kate, or because she had chosen to stand by her man, like Kim. She was with them because a one-night stand had mistakenly led the FBI to believe that she knew Tyler's whereabouts. Had they never been caught on camera, she would have gone on with her life with a thrilling anecdote to tell her friends about the night she unwittingly spent with "that bomber guy."

Knowing that her life had been turned upside-down for no reason made it increasingly difficult for Liz to stay committed to their cause, especially when Tyler was giving her very little encouragement to do so. She found herself wishing with growing frequency that she had taken Will up on his offer to send them into hiding if they wanted to go.

_Nobody would call me "Sunny" now. More like Gloomy, or Grumpy…_

Liz sat beside Kim on the cheap sofa in the sleazy motel room Will had rented for them the night before. Together, they stared out at the humid August day and willed the Fates to have mercy on their friends. If everything went well, perhaps by this afternoon they would have their lives back.

And maybe, once the stress of being on the run was removed from his shoulders, Tyler would be able to deal with his father's death properly. Maybe he would let her help, instead of pushing her away only to reel her back in whenever he needed someone to lean on, and they could work at getting things back to the way they had been before.

"They should be back by now," Kim fretted for the thirtieth time, as the clock ticked toward three in the afternoon.

Placing a sympathetic hand over her friend's, Liz scolded herself for being so self-pitying. She could only imagine how desperately Kim wanted her life back, for the sake of her unborn children as well as herself.

"They'll be okay, Kim. Will and Kate know what they're doing."

"Will and Kate are up against some pretty incredible odds," Kim reminded her, worrying a strand of hair between her fingers. "Maybe we should have just disappeared, gone into hiding like Will suggested…"

Before Liz could think of a way to respond, a key suddenly turned in the lock. Both girls immediately leapt to their feet, clasping one another's hands for strength.

Tyler's face as he stepped over the threshold told Liz everything she needed to know: The situation was not even close to fixed.

Heart plummeting into her shoes, Liz tried to focus on the positive, as was her nature. Tyler didn't appear to be hurt; he was sweaty and grimy, but she saw no blood or bruises. Jay rushed in behind him, looking equally disheveled but also unharmed.

_No Will. No Kate. Oh no, please no…_

Liz wasn't sure how much death and destruction she could stand. She put the hardest question to Tyler straight off: "Where are they?"

"I-I…" Tyler waved his hand helplessly, seemingly too overcome to speak. He turned to lean his forehead against the wall, which he punched once, though not hard enough to make noise that would attract attention from their neighbors.

Jay, who had gone directly to Kim and wrapped his arms around her, looked at Liz over the top of his wife's head. "They may be dead," he admitted. Kim began to cry. "I'm pretty sure they got captured, at least. It was a trap."

"Kensington set you up?" Liz felt dizzy and sank down onto the couch. She glanced at Tyler, wishing he would come put his arms around her like Jay had with Kim, but once again he seemed too caught up in his own emotions to notice hers. He had turned to face them yet didn't seem to be actually seeing anything.

_He's had a terrible shock, give him a break – if there was a shoot-out, it had to remind him of losing his father._

Despite her compassion for Tyler, though, Liz had to admit that telling herself to be patient with him over and over again was wearing thin.

"I'm not sure. Franklin sure as hell was in on the double-cross." Jay sounded bitter, his voice brittle with rage. "I should have known better than to trust that guy. There was always something not quite right about him."

"What are we going to do?" Wiping tears from her eyes, Kim had once more assumed the stoicism Liz so admired in her. "Did Will have a back-up plan?"

"Probably dozens. But he didn't share any of them with us," Tyler muttered.

Jay shook his head. "That's not really true, Tyler. Will told me this morning something might go wrong, and if it did, he said for me and you to get out and come back here for the girls. He said to call Marlow and see what she knew on her end, and to work with her – and Kate, I don't think he planned on letting her be captured anymore than Tyler or me. He said they'd have some ideas, and to listen to them."

The way he stopped suddenly tipped Liz off that Will had said more than that. She wondered if anyone else picked up on it, but they didn't seem to.

"I'd better go make that call," Jay decided, squeezing Kim before releasing her. He headed toward the second bedroom (given the size of their group, Will had rented them what qualified as a "suite" in this dump) and shut the door behind him.

Kim was deathly pale. Liz stood up and led her over to the couch, chafing Kim's cold hands between hers. "You have to stay calm, Kim," she cautioned her friend. "For the babies."

Tyler walked over and dropped into a chair across from them. He looked miserable and frightened, like Liz felt. "I don't know what we're going to do now," he confessed. "Will's the only one of us who knows where all that evidence we worked so hard for even is. We never should have gone in there without making him tell us where he'd put it. I think we're totally screwed now."

Not the one who was generally quickest to defend Will, whom she still found a little unnerving with his chameleon-like personality, Liz was nevertheless irritated by Tyler's ingratitude. "Will was trying to protect us. It's safer if we don't know too much."

"Safer, yeah, but how does being safe help us get our lives back, or stop this attack the Branch is planning?" Tyler ran a hand through his hair, obviously frustrated. "I just wish Will would stop protecting us and let us help. You should have heard him, the minute bullets started flying: 'Go! Get yourselves out!' I mean, Jesus, we just…We just _left them there…_"

Liz suddenly understood what punching the wall had been all about: Tyler was furious with himself for not being able to save Will and Kate. She felt some of her annoyance with him slip away; she started to move over beside him, ready to pull him into a comforting embrace, but Tyler held up a hand to stave her off.

Wounded, Liz dropped back into her seat. She could not for the life of her understand what was going on with them. They still made love; Tyler was an expert lover, tender and passionate and considerate, and she couldn't deny that she looked forward to turning the lights out at night even when she was aggravated with him. But he no longer did the other little things she had so adored, like grabbing her hand for no reason, or out of the blue telling her she was gorgeous, or cuddling her close, like he couldn't stand to be even an inch from her, when they began to drift off to sleep. He was withdrawn and taciturn, closed off and determined to keep her at a distance.

At first, Liz had told herself it was nothing more than losing his father, and she had been more than willing to make plenty of allowances for Tyler's grief. When his treatment of her went from inconsiderate to downright hurtful, in moments like the brush-off he had just given her, she had told herself that the shine wore off of every relationship; infatuation became something more commonplace, couples stopped giggling and holding hands everywhere they went, people got comfortable snoring in front of each other and arguing with each other and even living their own lives without always including one another. But what was happening between her and Tyler, she had begun to realize, was more than that. Reality was bleeding across her fairytale romance, making her wonder if Tyler had ever felt anything real for her at all.

_I know what I feel for him. But like the song says, sometimes love just ain't enough…_

Jay chose that moment to emerge from the bedroom. "They're alive," he declared, and a collective sigh of relief sounded from their trio.

He took a seat on the other side of Kim, draping a protective arm around her shoulders. "Marlow spoke to Kensington. She doesn't think he was involved – she said he was royally pissed that Franklin had betrayed them, and he's already had him rounded up for interrogation. She said Kensington sounded pretty scared for himself because apparently he's thought Franklin was working for him for some time now, and he's shared a lot of secrets with the guy."

"So he can make Franklin tell us where Will and Kate are?" Kim looked hopeful.

Jay told her gently, "I'm not sure, baby. I hope so. But he's tough. If he doesn't want to tell, I don't know if Kensington can make him – at least not soon enough to do Will and Kate any good. And Marlow said Franklin wasn't being particularly cooperative."

"Is Whaley really dead?" Tyler asked. Seeing the girls' bewildered expressions, he explained, "Franklin told us he killed him."

"Why would they do that?" Liz was disgusted by all of the violence and mayhem the Branch dispensed seemingly without a single qualm. "He already told everything he knew, didn't he? What would be the point?"

To Tyler, Jay said, "Yeah, he's dead. Marlow said they killed one of Stone's old Marine buddies and a couple of NSA agents in the process of getting the job done."

Liz felt even sicker. So much death, so much loss, and for what? A little bit of power? A bigger slice of the American dream?

Turning to Liz, Jay tackled her question. "The Branch is trying to destroy our credibility," he explained. "Marlow told me Whaley's testimony was pretty damning stuff, but it was going to require a lot of follow-up – they'd already done two more interviews with him, and both had led to even more witnesses they needed to produce and more evidence, like murder weapons and wire transfers, they needed to locate.

"His deposition may be enough to get an arrest warrant for people like Fred Chambers, but without Whaley around to help with the investigation as more questions come up, or to stand in front of a judge and jury himself to tell what's really a crazy-sounding tale, she doesn't think they stand a chance of getting a conviction. Much as I hate to say it, I agree with her," Jay admitted. "In fact, I'd be surprised, with their star witness dead and so little to go on, if they could even get an arrest warrant. Search warrants would probably be out of the question."

"So what does Marlow suggest we do?" Tyler asked what Liz was preparing to. "How are we getting Kate and Will back?"

Jay looked carefully at each of his friends in turn. "You guys know that I love Will, right? And I appreciate everything Kate has done for us, and I wouldn't want her to be hurt?"

_Oh my God, _Liz realized, with dawning horror, _we're not going after them. _

"Don't say it." Tyler seemed to know what was coming, too. "Jay, you know what the Branch will do to them. We can't – "

"We can't let the Branch unleash a biological attack on the American people and then blame us for it, either, Tyler," Jay cut him off.

He looked angry that he was being asked to make such a decision, and Liz sympathized. Jay was a good man, too good of a man to be put in such an awful position, choosing between the rescue of his friends and the safety of his country. "Will told me again this morning not to forget the mission. Our first priority has to be keeping the Branch from putting Morbus into play. Think of all the people who will die if that happens. This is bigger than us now, Tyler, bigger than any of us – including Will and Kate."

Kim spoke up tentatively, still pale but her voice strong. "Will wouldn't want you to worry about him right now, I know it. He would want you to work with Marlow to stop the Branch. If he wasn't willing to die for this, he wouldn't have gone into that meeting."

Liz could hear in her friend's voice how frightened she was for Will and thought again what a curious bond those two shared. She had suspected for a while that maybe they had feelings for one another – Will was cute, though not Liz's type – yet seeing Kim's adoration for Jay and Will's grief over Maya, that hadn't tracked. She thought now that Kim saw Will more as a brother, like she did Tyler, only her connection to Will was deeper because they seemed to understand one another in a way Tyler and Kim didn't.

The long and the short of it was, if Kim and Jay were both willing to sacrifice Will for the greater good, Liz had to believe it was the right thing to do. As she thought about the difficulties that lay ahead, however, she was overcome again by the desire to simply run away, to let other people sort out this mess.

"Fine," Tyler was agreeing, his voice clipped. "What does Marlow want to do?"

"She wants to go to Miami and blow up Buchanan's lab."

Kim gasped; Tyler choked; Liz sighed. _Well, here we go on another Mission: Impossible._

Jay turned to Kim. "Will said something else this morning," he admitted quietly. Liz couldn't help being proud of herself for picking up on the fact that Jay was holding back earlier; maybe she had spy-skills after all. "He said if this didn't work, if the Branch wouldn't deal or they somehow double-crossed us, that you and Liz needed to leave. You needed to go into hiding."

"We've been in danger this whole time," Kim protested. "Why now?"

"Will said once the Branch knows the kind of evidence we have against them, they'll stop playing nice and do whatever it takes to silence all of us," Jay persisted. "I told him I couldn't believe what we've been through was 'playing nice,' but he swore that we haven't seen anywhere near the full power of this organization yet. He made me promise, Kim, that I wouldn't let anything happen to you or Liz."

"Well, Will should know me better than that. I'm not leaving you," Kim declared stubbornly.

Liz could feel Tyler's gaze on her and knew he was picking up on the fact that she wasn't pronouncing her determination to stay. Tears pricked her eyes, tears she refused to let fall. She hadn't decided yet what she would do, but the offer of an escape certainly sounded tempting.

"He said you'd argue with me. He said if you did, I was to tell you to remember why we're fighting." Jay shrugged, as if to say he had no idea what that meant. "He said you'd understand."

From the look on Kim's face, she did: Her protests seemed to die on her lips. Unconsciously placing a hand over her belly, she said slowly, "How…How did he intend for us to get away?"

"Thad." Jay cast a grateful smile in Tyler's direction. "Apparently, your brother was dead serious about offering any help we needed. Will said he spoke to him, and he has your family's private jet on standby to pick the girls up and take them to a secure location."

"If I go, you'll have to call me every chance you get," Kim instructed Jay shakily. He pulled her against his chest, rocking her gently back and forth. "You have to be careful, Jay. You have to swear you'll come back to us."

"I will, baby, I will."

Sensing that the newlyweds could use a little time alone, Liz and Tyler stood at the same moment. He inclined his head toward the bedroom; she nodded that she would follow. To Jay, Tyler said, "I'll make the call to Thad, get it all set up. Then we can meet up with Marlow and get underway."

In the bedroom with the door closed, Tyler walked over and sat on the bed. Liz sank down beside him, heart pounding and eyes stinging with unshed tears.

"You should go," he said firmly, looking at the floor. "You've been through enough."

"Will you be okay if I go?" Liz was honestly worried about that. Tyler had seemed so lost, so adrift, these past weeks; angry as she was with him, hurt as she was by his behavior, eager as she was to be out of constant danger and turmoil, she didn't want to leave if it would mean him falling apart at such a crucial time.

Tyler lifted his gaze to hers. She saw a spark of the man she had first met there – arrogant, self-assured, determined. "I'll be fine. I think Will's right, I think this is about to get even worse – if that's possible – and I think I'll be better if I know you're somewhere safe. Besides," he added, "Kim needs you. You've been a really good friend to her, and being separated from Jay is going to eat her up inside."

The fact that Tyler wanted her to go didn't surprise Liz. She knew he cared about her safety. Yet she also sensed a finality in this good-bye, a finality he seemed to feel as well.

_How do you end a relationship with someone who may die trying to save the world?_

It felt wrong, somehow, but Liz didn't think she could bear to go with things so unsettled between them. Taking a deep breath, she told him, as honestly as she could, "Tyler, I love you. I know we haven't known each other very long, but we've been together under some pretty intense circumstances, and I think that makes what we feel for each other stronger.

"But if I leave now, I…I'll really be leaving." She swallowed around a rock-sized lump in her throat. "Do you understand?"

Tyler seemed unable to speak, so he nodded. He reached out and gripped her hand, lifting her fingers to his lips. Liz's tears spilled over. As they did, he finally opened his arms to her and held her until she was quiet.

"You're the best thing to come out of this insanity, you know that?" he said into her hair. "I'll never regret meeting you, Liz. You've been incredible. You've saved my life, even if you don't know it."

Liz kissed him softly on the lips. "Maybe things will be different when all of this is over," she offered, though she sensed that something had been decided between them – something that couldn't be undone. "Whatever happens, though, Tyler, please be careful. I don't know if I could stand it if anything happened to you."

"Don't worry about me. If I survived helping you make a wedding dress overnight, I can blow up a secret government lab, no problem."

They laughed together, and Liz felt more at peace than she had in weeks. That alone told her that leaving now was the right decision, for her and for Tyler.

**Part 3**

After four interminable hours, during which Kate actually thought she might lose her mind, the woman Will had called Alex finally turned off her electro-shock machine, put away her scalpels, and had Will and Kate tossed unceremoniously into separate cells. It was not a huge improvement, to be sure; the cells contained only a cot, a sink and a toilet apiece, and both were beyond filthy. Kate nearly choked on the unmistakable stench of human blood and excrement.

But at least she wasn't being forced to watch as Will was tortured.

Their cells were separated by nothing but bars, which Kate, being slender, could easily reach both arms through up to the shoulders. Housed in a back corridor of the warehouse, their cells offered at least the illusion of privacy, since Alex did not leave any guards to watch over them as she closed the heavy outer door behind her.

Kate moved immediately to the bars between her cell and Will's. He was lying on his back fairly close to her, breathing slowly but steadily. She stretched her hand through the bars and caught his wrist, tugging him closer; he groaned as he inched her way. He had been shocked a half-dozen times. Kate could only imagine how badly his body was aching at the moment.

She took stock of his injuries: black eyes from a busted nose (that had happened before she tried to rescue them in Crystal City, she assumed), purple-green bruise on his temple from Chambers' pistol-handle, swollen cuts on his wrist where the twine had bitten into his skin. And, on the inside of his right arm, three letters carved into the tender flesh: O-L-I. Alex had promised they would finish spelling out the name "Olivia" soon.

_At least I know what "Vi" was short for now…_

Kate started with the cuts on Will's arm, because they were most likely to become infected in their disgusting surroundings. She wet a few papertowels at her sink and gently dabbed at the dried blood, noting with relief that although the cuts would certainly scar they were not deep enough to have done muscular or vascular damage.

"That sucked."

Will's comment made Kate want to laugh and cry at the same time. "Yes," she agreed, working to keep her voice steady – it would help neither of them for her to fall apart. "Yes, that did suck. How are you feeling?"

"Like a train hit me and then backed up." Will opened one bloodshot eye to see if he had made her smile; Kate hitched a grin into place for his benefit. "Really, I'm okay. She didn't have the charge set very high."

It had looked high enough from where Kate was sitting. If she had known the location of the evidence, she was certain she would have blurted it out at one of two points: when Alex had started carving up Will's arm while they took a "break" from electro-shock or when, on the last go-round with the electro-shock machine, Will's self-control had finally snapped and he had screamed for Alex to stop. She knew that anguished cry would haunt her to the end of her days.

"Do you think it was Kensington?" Will rolled onto his side so Kate, having done the best she could with his cuts, could clean the dried blood caked around his nose and mouth.

Kate wished she had a better answer than, "I just don't know," but Will seemed to understand. He briefly described what had happened inside the empty office suite while she tried to determine if his nose was broken – it didn't seem to be, though only an X-ray could show for certain – and offered his opinion that Franklin was probably acting alone.

"I don't know, Will," Kate cautioned. "I'm not sure I buy this whole 'internal war' crap Carlton Fog and Kensington both gave us. I think Carlton believed it, but…I just don't know."

"You think it's all been a set-up from the beginning." Will extended his wrists so she could take care of the deep gashes the twine had made in his skin. Looking down at her work, he commented, "It's going to hurt to be tied up like that again, isn't it?"

Kate swallowed hard. "Don't think about it. Why don't you try to sleep? We can't do anything productive right now anyway."

Will didn't need much convincing. Edging as close to the bars as he could, he stretched out with his sore wrists cradled on his bare chest. Kate lay down on her side with her head resting on her arm, ignoring the filth around her, and placed a comforting hand on his wrist through the bars.

Although Will fell asleep immediately – extreme fatigue was a side-effect of electro-shock, Kate knew, and tried not to wonder how much he could take before he suffered permanent brain damage – she lay awake for much longer, staring at him and trying to find a way out of their predicament. If Jay and Tyler didn't send help…But how could they? Who would have any idea where to find them? Even if Kensington hadn't double-crossed them, it would be risky for him to buck the rest of the Branch in order to rescue her and Will, or even to locate them for Marlow, Jay and Tyler.

_We're on our own here. And it's not looking good for us._

Alex allowed them almost six hours of peace – just long enough, Kate noted, for her to begin to hope the woman wouldn't come back. Will was still sleeping soundly, and Kate had finally dozed off herself, when Alex woke them by singing out, "Good evening, lovebirds! Ready for another conversation?"

Will sat up and wiped sleep from his eyes. Kate offered him a shaky smile, trying to convey that she was prepared to do her part.

Alex unlocked his cell first and threw his shirt in at him. "Thought you might be cold, sweetie," she said. Will slipped the shirt on over his head. To Kate, she quipped, "Don't go anywhere, Beauty. I'll be right back."

Ten minutes later, Kate was tied to her chair again, but instead of being hung from the ceiling, Will was on his knees with his hands bound behind his back. Alex had placed a barrel of water in front of him, and Kate had a sick feeling she knew what was coming.

"You know, Will, I was always impressed by you during underwater ops," Alex said, shoving the barrel against his chest. Kate could see a thick scum and dead bugs floating on top of the water and felt sick at the thought of Will's head being plunged into the oily-looking substance. God only knew where it had come from – probably the sewer, from the smell it was giving off. "You could hold your breath for, I'm trying to remember, was it…?"

"Thirty seconds," Will offered.

Alex laughed. "Nice try, baby. I think it was more like a minute and thirty seconds. Let's start with that, shall we?"

She seized the back of Will's hair and shoved his face into the water, holding him there as the seconds ticked by, her eyes not on him but on Kate. If Kate could have scorched the other woman with her eyes, she would have done so gladly.

_Before this is over, I'm going to kill you, you sadistic bitch._

Strengthened by her silent vow, Kate did not react when Will began to squirm in Alex's grasp. At last, Alex jerked his head up, allowing him to gasp a long breath. He coughed and gagged as the filthy water ran into his mouth.

"Where is the evidence you have against the Fourth Branch?" Alex demanded of Kate.

Her voice completely flat, emotionless, Kate replied, "I don't know."

For half an hour, Alex proceeded to dunk Will's head underwater, hold him there until Kate was certain he was drowning, and then let him up for air while she asked Kate to tell her the location of the evidence. Finally, having apparently gulped down a mouthful of the brackish water, Will turned his head and vomited all over the floor.

Alex let him fall onto his side, where he lay, panting. She looked from him to Kate, who, try as she might to remain expressionless, knew a spasm of pain had just crossed her face as she watched him gulp for air without knowing how long he would be allowed to breathe.

"I think we're getting somewhere," Alex commented smugly. "Ready for a break from underwater ops, Will? We've got your tattoo we can work on."

Will said nothing as two men, summoned by Alex, hefted him onto a gurney they had rolled into the room. Alex positioned Will so Kate would have a clear view of her scalpel-work. "Mmm, someone cleaned these up," she noted, surveying the damage she had already done. "Maybe I should go over them again, make sure they're deep enough to leave an impression?"

Kate couldn't stand it. "Please don't do this." She strained against her bonds, knowing it was futile – she was tied much too securely to break free. "Please, I swear to you, I do not know where the evidence is buried."

Alex considered her. "You know, Beauty, I think I believe you." With that, she lifted the scalpel, pressed it to Will's arm, and began carving out the next letter in Olivia's name.

_She's going to hurt him no matter what I do. Oh, Will…_Unable to watch him biting back a scream, Kate finally allowed herself to close her eyes. Alex didn't seem to care.

And so it continued for the next thirty-two hours. Dumped back in their cells, Kate would clean Will up as best she could, and they would stretch out alongside one another, holding hands through the bars, until Alex returned. She put Will through a tremendous amount of pain - he was shocked, beaten, and cut every six to seven hours, with a few hours off in between to recuperate. Kate knew the method, though it sickened her: Alex was not injuring Will badly enough to kill him, and by allowing him to recover in between sessions, she was ensuring that he stayed alert enough to experience every ounce of agony.

On the morning of their second day in captivity, however, it was not Alex who came for them but Maxwell Abrams. He had two guards half-carry Will (who, bloody and beaten and dehydrated, did not seem able to walk alone) into the warehouse, where he tied his wrists above his head with a thick rope while Kate was bound once more to her chair.

"This is your last chance, Ms. Westbrook," Abrams informed her. "And yours, Mr. Traveler. We are through wasting time on you. The day after tomorrow, we are moving forward with our plans to release Morbus. So you see? Your suffering is for nothing – you are not going to stop us. Did you really think you could make a difference against something as powerful as the Fourth Branch?"

"I did." Will was still himself enough to be cocky. "I'm an optimist, though. Ask Kate."

Abrams sighed. "I'm sorry to do things this way, Mr. Traveler, but you leave us no choice." To the guards, he instructed, "Beat him. Don't stop until one of them talks or I come get you."

The guards did not hold back. Kate knew Will could not take much of their abuse; he was too weak already. She begged them to stop, trying to get their attention on her by kicking against her bonds and thrashing about. It worked a little, she told herself. Still, by the time Abrams returned fifteen minutes later, Will looked half-dead, hanging from the metal pipe with bruises blooming all over his body and blood seeping out of dozens of cuts where punches had landed with enough force to split his skin open.

"Cut him down," Abrams instructed, "and put them both back in their cells. We'll deal with them later."

One of the guards untied Will's wrists. Immediately, Will collapsed; Kate shrieked as he crashed into the table of torture-implements Alex had left in the center of the room, sending scalpels and knives flying. Will landed in an unconscious heap amidst all of it.

"Jesus, is he dead?" Abrams sounded more disgusted than concerned.

"Knocked out," the guard grunted. He hefted Will over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried him back to his cell, throwing him roughly onto the floor so that Will's head smacked the concrete. Kate managed to get in a fierce kick to the guard's shin before his buddy flung her into her own cell with such force she crashed into the far wall.

"We'll be back for you," the guard she had kicked promised darkly, massaging his leg. Grinning at his partner, he added, "We'll have some fun with her before it's over. She's feisty."

The instant the outer door closed behind them, Kate was on her knees beside Will. To her surprise, he sat up straight away and smiled triumphantly.

"Never underestimate the power of playing possum," he declared, lifting a thin, shiny metal file that he had managed to grab during his "collapse."

Kate didn't know whether to hug him or slap him for scaring her so badly. With the bars between them, she had to settle for gripping his fingers tightly.

"Can you pick the locks on these cells with this?" Will asked, sliding the file through the bars to her.

Kate nodded. It would be simple. Rushing to work on her lock, she said over her shoulder, "I didn't see much when they brought us in, but I'm pretty sure there are some big trucks parked close by. If we can sneak through that room out there without being seen, I think we can steal one and get away."

"Good." Will coughed, holding his ribs, which were probably broken, as he did.

In seconds, Kate had opened the padlock on her cell and was prepared to start on Will's, crouched in front of his cell with her back to the outer door. But Will crawled over and placed his hands on top of hers, stilling them.

"The evidence is buried in a graveyard in Red Bud, Illinois," he declared. "It's in two metal canisters, the kind you put time capsules in, you know? The name on the grave is 'Nora O'Connor.' Third row from the main gate, sixth stone to the west."

Kate shook her head, bewildered. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I can't walk out of here, Kate." He smiled bravely. "Alex knows how to do her thing – I'm just going to slow you down if you try to take me with you. So you have to go."

When she started to protest, Will lifted his hand for silence. "I can take a lot more than what she's dished out so far, trust me. You go to Red Bud, get the evidence, and get it into the hands of someone who can stop these people before the day after tomorrow.

"We can't waste time anymore, Kate. You and I are now the only people who know where that evidence is. One of us has to get out of here, or a lot more people than you and I are going to suffer."

_I cannot leave him here to be tortured. I cannot._

"I'll try not to tell them anything for another day at least," Will went on. "I'm sure they'll step up the interrogation techniques after they figure out you've escaped, so you need to get to the evidence before they make me talk. Okay?"

"Don't make me do this." Kate was trembling all over. She understood what Will was telling her; she knew in her gut it was the only option she had. But every cell in her body rebelled against it. "Please don't ask me to leave you here for them to…"

"Shh." Will touched her cheek gently. "It's just pain, Kate. It ends at some point."

A sound from the warehouse made her jump. Seeing that he was truly resigned to his fate and knowing she could risk waiting no longer, Kate grabbed Will's hand in hers, kissed his palm fiercely, and jumped to her feet.

"I promise I won't let them win," she said, looking hard into his face, trying to memorize him.

Leaning his head against the bars, Will smiled at her. "I know you won't. I trust you."

Kate switched off everything but the skills she needed to survive: She jerked open the outer door, roundhouse-kicked a guard who was moving her way, and sprinted the full length of the warehouse into the warm August sunshine, where, as she had recalled, a fleet of Mack trucks were parked. Selecting the closest one, Kate glanced around quickly for guards. Four of them were playing cards at a table across the truck-yard, but since none of them had noticed her, she opened the driver's side door and slipped inside.

"Keys, keys, keys," she whispered like a prayer, pulling down the sun visor. To her immense relief, keys toppled into her palm.

The moment she started the truck's giant engine, Kate knew her cover would be blown and the chase would ensue. She took a deep breath, inserted the key, and –

Froze, as a sudden flash of insight came over her.

_"I can't walk out of here, Kate."_

_No, _she thought, her heart coming back to life in her chest, _but you can ride._

She didn't give her conscience a chance to talk her out of what was, honestly, a crazy, dangerous plan. Turning the key over in the ignition, Kate shifted the truck into gear, jammed her foot down on the accelerator, and barreled forward – straight through the wall of the warehouse.

Shouts sounded from behind her, swallowed by the roar of the engine. Kate stomped the pedal to the floor and tore through the warehouse, knocking over pallets of boxes and swerving to avoid concrete pillars. She slammed on the brakes as she neared the back room where Will was being kept but didn't stop entirely until the truck had punched through the wall.

She clambered across the seat and out the passenger's side, coughing amidst the dust created by the wall's collapse. Will was on his feet, holding himself up by clutching the bars. In no time flat, Kate had used the file she had stuffed into her pocket to pick the lock on his cell.

Stepping inside, she grabbed him around the waist and pushed him toward the truck. "Kate, this is nuts," Will protested, groaning as he hefted his bruised body into the cab.

"I know. I think it'll work, though." Kate raced back around the truck; she could hear footsteps pounding toward them from outside. Slamming her door shut, she put the Mack in reverse and floored it, roaring backwards through the warehouse.

Will was sprawled on the seat, barely able to sit upright. By the harsh light of day, she could see just how beaten and bloodied he really was. Determined that they would not be recaptured, Kate shifted into 'drive' and raced through what proved to be a large, maze-like compound.

People were running toward them with guns, but she was driving much too fast for anyone to take sufficient aim. Bullets bounced harmlessly off the outside of the truck.

"Do you know where you're going?" Will asked, warily eyeing the rising speedometer. "Do you even know how to drive one of these things?"  
"No and yes." Kate was casting about desperately for an escape route. All at once, she spotted it – a tall, wrought-iron gate with a guard post beside it, and beyond that, the highway.

"Better move," she mumbled to the guards, aiming the truck in their direction.

"Kate." Will's voice was half-warning, half-pleading. "Kate, you do see that the gate is closed, right?"

"Put your head down and hold on."

As she spoke, Kate caught sight of a familiar figure running flat-out toward the guardhouse, lugging what appeared to be – Kate couldn't believe her eyes – a rocket-launcher.

Normally, Kate would have been terrified to be fighting people well-placed enough to possess a rocket-launcher. But rational thought was blotted out by rage, because the woman holding the powerful weapon was the woman who had spent the past two days torturing Will.

_You are mine, bitch._

Will made a small, incoherent sound of protest at what she was about to do and gripped the dashboard with both hands. Without swerving or slowing, Kate headed directly for Alex. An inner calm that she associated with successful operations descended upon her; she knew, though she couldn't say how she did, that Alex would not have time to position her impressive weapon before the Mack truck was upon her.

Her instincts were not wrong. At the last possible second, the rocket-launcher loaded but not aimed, Alex looked up in shocked horror to see several tons of steel bearing down on her at sixty miles per hour.

The truck smashed into Alex's body a second before crashing through the gate. Kate did let up on the accelerator, not even as iron and bone crunched underneath the huge tires.

She did not stop. She did not look back.

**Part 4**

Stone had gotten the call about Whaley's murder at the "safehouse" (if the dive where he had been kept could be called such) the morning of Westbrook and Traveler's meeting with the Fourth Branch. Marlow had immediately contacted Kensington, who was in a towering temper after discovering that Tyrese Franklin had been working for Maxwell Abrams all along. According to Kensington, Franklin had apparently sworn undying loyalty to Oliver Drummond, whom he had served with in the First Recon, and Drummond had convinced him to earn Kensington's trust and spy on him. The war between the two factions of the Branch was heating up, it seemed, and Marlow had a bad feeling she and her friends were all going to be caught in the crossfire.

They'd had no time to warn Traveler or Westbrook that they were walking into a trap, but Kensington had relayed that Chambers and Abrams had not killed their captives. The damage was done, however: Without Will, they had no way of finding the evidence that was supposed to act as their leverage against the Branch; without Whaley, they had very little chance of arresting key players like Chambers before the Morbus attack could be carried out.

Marlow knew one thing – she was sick to death of being outdone at every turn by the Fourth Branch. So when she hung up the phone with Kensington, she turned to Stone, who was equally furious over the death of his friend, his agents and his witness, and asked, "How much operational discretion do you actually have with the NSA, Harold?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Blowing up Belenus Pharmaceuticals' Miami lab."

Stone didn't flinch, a testament to how angry he really was. "That'd be above my pay-grade, I'm afraid." He paused, considering, before continuing thoughtfully, "But I bet Kensington could get it done."

It had taken some convincing, that much was certain: Kensington was understandably reluctant to dig himself an even deeper hole with the powerful, dangerous members of the Branch who now knew he was officially their enemy, having tasked Kaitlyn Westbrook to spy on Jack Freed for the past ten years and having assigned to Franklin to protect Burchell and Fog, their number-one enemies (besides Traveler) after the Drexler bombing went south. Marlow had argued forcefully that destroying the Branch's stores of Morbus _and _their antidote for the disease before the attack could be carried out would not only save lives but would also make an undeniable statement about the reach of Kensington's own power.

"You can't lay low anymore," she had insisted, pacing the floor of Stone's apartment (where she was still crashing on the couch) with the phone glued to her ear. Stone stood by, watching and listening with bemusement to Marlow berate the Director of CIA Internal Affairs for lacking the chutzpah do what was necessary. "You either show these people how far you're willing to go to protect yourself and this country, or they probably will kill you, and they will certainly release this biological weapon on an unsuspecting public."

Kensington had wanted to know how she could be so certain that blowing up the Miami lab would stop the attack. Wasn't it likely, he had demanded, that the Branch would have such a valuable weapon stored in more than one place? And wasn't it even more likely that they wouldn't store the disease and its cure together, in case of just such a scenario as the one Marlow was proposing?

Marlow had a ready answer for that, as well. "Westbrook's contact inside Belenus Pharmaceuticals, Dr. Breanna Murden, was certain Morbus and its antidote were only being kept at the Miami location. She said it's a very difficult substance to keep stable, so storing it and transporting it are very dangerous. But even if we're wrong about that, we're probably going to at least delay their plans, buy ourselves more time to figure out how to stop them."

At last, Kensington had agreed to send one of his best people to her. "She's young," he had warned, "but don't let that fool you – she's as good as Traveler at what she does."

Marlow understood the comparison when, three hours after her conversation with Kensington, the girl she had known as Nell Graham, Tyler Fog's ex-girlfriend from New Haven, appeared on Stone's doorstep.

"You?" Marlow sputtered.

Nell flashed a sweet-as-sugar smile. "Me," she shrugged. "My name's Helen, by the way. Helen North. But you can call me Nell, I'm used to it."

"You're CIA?" Marlow wanted to know, showing the young woman into the kitchen. Standing at the sink, Stone did a double-take, either because of Nell's youth or beauty Marlow couldn't be sure, though she suspected the latter.

_Typical man, always thinking about one thing…_

"Yup." Nell introduced herself to Stone before turning back to Marlow. "Kensington recruited me when I was seventeen. Said he needed someone on the inside of this domestic espionage program called Hometown."

"Seventeen?" Marlow was disgusted. "You've been working for Kensington since you were seventeen?"

"Freed only recruited people who were really young into Hometown, so it fit. Anyway, it was there or prison." Nell bestowed another good-girl-gone-bad smile on them, which Marlow saw melt Stone in his tracks. "I was on trial for armed robbery. I had a difficult childhood."

Nell put off telling them her life story, however, since Jay and Tyler arrived just then. Marlow had never seen two people more surprised than those boys were when they found Nell seated in Stone's kitchen.

"You?" Tyler's reaction exactly mirrored Marlow's.

"Don't be mad," Nell pleaded, her doe-eyed gaze taking in both him and Jay. "I was never really helping Will. I was trying to protect you both. I didn't know what he was planning to frame you for until the bomb had gone off, or I would have stopped it."

Marlow sensed that the girl was telling the truth. Jay just shrugged, as if to say it no longer mattered; Marlow got the impression that he was starting to wonder if a single person in his life was really who he or she claimed to be. She felt for him.

Tyler took the revelation that his long-time girlfriend was actually a spy quite well, all things considered. "I should have known," he said simply. "Will introduced us, you helped him with the video blog thing, you stored all of his stuff at your place where it was so conveniently turned into evidence against us…It fits."

"You're not mad?" Nell looked hopeful.

"Hey, you kept us out of the FBI's clutches in New Haven, didn't you? Anyway, I let Will off the hook, so I'm going to take it on faith that you're really on our side."

Tyler stuck out his hand, and Nell shook it, grinning. "Now, did somebody say something about blowing a building up for real?"

By the early hours of the morning two days later – what would have been Westbrook and Traveler's second day of captivity, if by some miracle they were still alive – Marlow, Stone, Jay, Tyler and Nell were on the move. Kensington had arranged a CIA plane for them; they flew into Miami just as the sun came up. A half-dozen CIA operatives were waiting for them at the airstrip, as was an explosive device large enough to bring down the enormous Belenus Pharmaceuticals laboratory.

Dr. Breanna Murden was there as well, looking frightened but determined. Sometime in the past two days, she had been briefed about Westbrook's real identity and had been offered immunity for her work on Morbus as well as federal witness protection if she helped them stop the biological attack. Dr. Murden seemed rather relieved to be offered a way out of her current circumstances, actually; Marlow got the impression that here was a woman who had been pulled into the Branch's twisted dealings so gradually and subtly over the years that she hadn't even realized what she was into until she couldn't get out.

If the Branch was good at anything, Marlow reflected sourly, it was ruining innocent lives.

Armed with blueprints Nell had hacked into through the Miami city planner's office and provided with the location of the Morbus stores by Dr. Murden, their team was ready to roll out before mid-morning. Marlow, Stone, Tyler, Jay and Nell piled into the back of one non-descript van (Dr. Murden was remaining at the airstrip under a formidable guard), while the other operatives headed out in a second vehicle. The plan was to infiltrate the lab, arm the explosive, and evacuate the building before setting it off.

The aftermath would be Kensington's problem. Nell reported that he and the Branch members who were opposed to the Morbus attack were planning to blame the explosion on a gas leak underneath the facility. Kensington's operatives had secretly taken Vivian Buchanan and her husband Ted into custody at their New York home that morning; it seemed likely the cover story would be believed, since the company's owners would forced to espouse it if they didn't want to end up at the bottom of the Atlantic.

"Have you heard anything from Will?" Nell asked Marlow, helping Tyler strap his bullet-proof vest into place.

"No." Marlow was trying not to think about what might be happening to Westbrook and Traveler at that moment. "When we're finished here, assuming we succeed in stopping the attack, finding him will be our first priority."

"You shouldn't worry so much. Will can take care of himself." Nell patted Tyler's shoulder to let him know the vest was secure. "Need help, Jay?" she offered.

"I got it, thanks." Jay's ROTC training seemed to be coming in handy again, because he had handled the body armor as if he was quite accustomed to it.

Tyler cast a sidelong glance at Nell. "You and Will were never…you know…?"

She threw her head back and laughed, tossing her curtain of silky brown hair over her shoulder. Marlow saw Stone's mouth water and discreetly kicked him. She wasn't jealous – that part of their relationship was over – but the girl was twenty-three, twenty-four at the most.

"No, I assure you, Will and I have a strictly business relationship." Nell batted her eyelashes at Tyler. "But it's sweet that you're jealous."

Jay cleared his throat. "Tyler, have you heard from Thad? I'd like to know if Kim and Liz are doing okay."

Marlow thought the mention of Liz Schultz was a little pointed and wondered if Jay was trying to warn his friend away from resuming a relationship with Nell. She couldn't blame him if he was: Deep-cover operatives hardly made for good life-partners. Besides, from what Marlow had seen, Tyler Fog seemed to have a bad habit of ricocheting from one romantic interlude to another.

"Yeah, he said they arrived just fine and are under lock and key at my dad's apartment in Manhattan," Tyler assured his friend. Turning to Nell, he said, "Did you hear that Jay and Kim got married during all of this? Jay's going to be a father…"

Happy congratulations carried them the rest of the way to the lab. Once they arrived, Nell became all business; Marlow had a feeling the girl was about to demonstrate the impressive recommendation Kensington had given her.

"Agent Marlow, why don't you stick with me and we'll get the device in place," she said, her voice making clear that she was actually giving orders, not making suggestions. "Agent Stone, I'm putting you in charge of getting us in and out of here without being spotted, because if we're seen, the gas-leak story isn't going to hold water."

"What about us?" Tyler asked. "We're not sitting in the car, Nell. I want a piece of the action here – I think we've earned a little revenge."

"Absolutely. You're definitely coming with us."

"Wait." Jay looked as if a sudden troubling that had just occurred to him. "All of those people in there, most of them don't know they work for the Branch. How do we get them out?"

Nell shrugged, as if to say it was the simplest thing in the world: "The building is mostly storage space – not that many people are inside. We'll just pull the fire alarm, and they'll have time to get clear."

Recalling how Traveler had cleared the Drexler, Marlow couldn't suppress a smile. Either Hometown did an excellent job of making its operatives copies of one another, which was unlikely for even the best and most intensive programs, or Nell and Traveler really were fairly similar creatures.

_I'm sure he had a difficult childhood, too, if we could ever figure out who Will Traveler really is…_

At the moment, Marlow decided, she would settle for knowing that he – and Westbrook – were still alive.

The security around the lab was almost impossibly tight. Stone led their team in through a series of storm tunnels below the facility that proved to be heavily guarded. Nell used a small device that looked like a tube of lipstick to capture and loop the closed circuit feed at each turn, ensuring that the guards watching the monitors saw nothing out of the ordinary. By using silencers on their guns, they were able to take down the guards patrolling the tunnels without alerting anyone above to their presence. Marlow noted that Tyler stayed well in the back; though he was armed, he didn't fire his weapon, and didn't look eager too, despite what he had said about revenge. She was glad losing his father hadn't destroyed his affable nature.

Jay, on the other hand, took out as many guards as he could line a bead up on. Marlow understood that he was fighting for his new family; she also understood that Jay shared a bond with Traveler that Tyler didn't seem to, a bond that had made him so much more hurt and angry than Tyler had been over Traveler's betrayal. She clearly remembered the pained look on his face in that New York alleyway as he had held a gun on his friend, torn between trusting Marlow and the agency she represented and placing his life in the hands of the friend who turned out to be a stranger. Jay saw Traveler as a brother, she got that. And like a brother, he was stone-cold furious over Traveler's capture and, in all probability, slow, agonizing murder.

"We're here," Nell suddenly whispered from the head of the column. They had come to a stop in front of a staircase that led from the tunnels up to the basement of the lab, where they would rig the charge. "Marlow, I need you. Stone, make sure we're clear, okay?"

Marlow caught Stone's eye and mouthed, _Be safe, _as he motioned for two of the operatives to follow him up the stairs. The others hung back to guard against a surprise attack from behind.

Nell and Marlow ascended the stairs when Stone called down the all-clear. While the operatives fanned out to cover them in case the Branch had discovered them and sent guards down to stop them, Marlow helped Nell carefully remove the explosive from the backpack she had carried it in. Together, because the horseshoe-sized metal disk was actually quite heavy when strapped to C-4, they gingerly secured the explosive to the building's gas main, where it would not only help with the gas-leak cover story by showing that the explosion had originated there but would also be virtually guaranteed to bring the building crashing in on itself.

"I hope Murden's right about the Morbus being contained in a lead vault," Nell muttered, hooking two wires together. Marlow closed her eyes, afraid to watch – at least it would be a quick death if the girl made a mistake. "Otherwise, we may be releasing a biological weapon into Miami by blowing this place up."

Marlow's eyes flew open. Now, there was a wrinkle she hadn't considered, that Dr. Murden might lie about the bioweapon's location, that she might still be working for the Branch to ensure that Morbus was released, one way or another.

That scenario seemed unlikely to Marlow, though, since Dr. Murden knew they would also be blowing up the antidote: The Branch had been careful not to engage in germ warfare until they were assured of a way to control it – and to protect themselves, she had noticed. In any event, Marlow didn't see how they had much choice but to trust the doctor's word; they couldn't fight their way through all of the guards inside the facility who were protecting the weapon and its antidote, so destroying the building was the only way to destroy the weapon.

_We have to take the chance._

"You ready?" Nell looked and sounded a tiny bit nervous. A fine sheen of sweat had appeared on her upper lip.

Trying not to think about everything that could go wrong, Marlow said firmly, "Do it."

Nell punched a button and the red digital numbers on the device's face sprang to life. They read 10:00 – enough time for Jay and Tyler to clear the building and their team to evacuate.

Calling for Stone and his men to move out, Nell quickly crossed the room and pulled the fire alarm by the stairs leading up the first floor. Immediately, a siren rang out through the building above them.

"Let's go," Marlow prompted the girl, who was removing two small packages from her backpack. "What are those?"

"Booby-traps." Nell placed one at the foot of the stairs, where it was hidden by the bottom step's shadow, and the other directly in front of the gas main, where she shoved it partially behind a black rubber mat. "In case somebody comes down here to see where the fire is and spots our little present, they step on one of these and it'ss boomlights out. We can't run the risk of anybody disabling the bomb, now can we?"

Marlow had to hand it to Kensington, he had been right about this girl – she was a step ahead at every turn, much like Traveler.

They were above ground and back at the vans (parked a safe distance from the lab) with five minutes to spare. Through high-powered binoculars, Marlow, Jay, Tyler, Stone and Nell took turns watching employees in suits and lab coats rush away from the building. The steadily trickle of people out the front doors had ended, indicating the building was clear, and the fire trucks were just pulling up (thankfully, no firefighters had yet headed inside) when the explosion went off.

Even as far away as they were, Marlow felt the ground shake with the force of the blast. A plume of smoke and dust that reminded her, with an unpleasant lurch in the vicinity of her heart, of the Twin Towers collapsing shot at least sixty feet into the air, nearly obscuring the bright blue Florida sky.

"Holy shit," Tyler breathed beside her. "That was…intense."

"Let's go." Nell was ushering them back into the vans. "We can't risk being seen. People are going to be suspicious enough as it is."

Once they were headed back toward the airstrip, Nell pulled out a cell phone and punched in Kensington's number. Marlow and the others sat in stunned silence while she spoke quietly into the receiver. It seemed none of them had truly been prepared for the destruction they were causing; Marlow couldn't stop thinking about the people who had been standing much closer than them, the people who might have been hit by debris or shrapnel…

"Good news," Nell announced, snapping the cell phone shut. "Initial reports say the building was a total loss, so that's mission accomplished. And," she added with a wide grin, "guess who just showed up at Kensington's house?"

Marlow took in the wide smiles on Jay and Tyler's faces and felt her own lips curving upward in spite of her horror at what they had just done.

_They're alive. Traveler and Westbrook made it out._

"Are they okay?" Jay asked.

"I guess Will's banged up pretty good, but Kensington said he'll live," Nell replied. She tossed her hair over her shoulder again and offered them all a superior smile. "See? I told you not to worry. Will can take care of himself."

It certainly seemed that way, Marlow had to admit. In fact, she was rather proud of all of them – Kim, Liz, Westbrook, Jay, Tyler, Traveler, even Stone and herself. They had faced down the beast and had dealt it what she hoped would be a death-blow.

Beaming around at her companions, Marlow allowed herself to believe that things really just might work out for them in the end after all.


	11. Chapter 11

**Episode 11:**

"**History"**

**Part 1**

As soon as their plane landed in Washington, D.C., Nell, Tyler and Jay piled into a car provided by the CIA and headed for Kensington's palatial home outside of the city, in the rolling Virginia hills. Marlow and Stone took another car to the undisclosed location where Tyrese Franklin was being interrogated concerning his work with Oliver Drummond and his role in murdering Otis Whaley. They promised to stay in touch.

Jay could think of only one thing: Seeing with his own eyes that Will was safe.

He had called Kim from the plane to tell her that he and Tyler were all right and that Will and Kate had escaped. She had been worried, she had admitted, when a breaking news report of the Miami explosion had come across the television, but Thad had kept her and Liz occupied with a rousing game of Monopoly. Jay had been relieved to hear how happy and relaxed she sounded; he sincerely hoped he would have a chance to meet Thad Fog in person before long, to thank him for taking such good care of his wife.

"How bad is Will hurt?" Kim had asked, after inquiring into every detail of Nell's involvement with Hometown, which he could tell had shocked her. He knew Kim had really liked Nell and had considered her a friend, so her duplicity came as almost as much of a shock as Will's.

Jay had told her honestly that he didn't know – Kensington had given Nell very few details. "The whole time we were worrying about Belenus Pharmaceuticals, I couldn't stop thinking about what might be happening to him," Jay had confessed, owning up to feelings that were troubling him. He had always been able to talk to Kim about anything, and he had needed her guidance then. "But now that I know he's safe, I keep thinking about how easily he lied to all of us for two years. Am I stupid for trusting him, Kim? Do you think any part of the person he pretended to be is real?"

Kim had taken her time in answering. "I know what you mean," she had said at length. "When I saw Will for the first time after the Drexler, when he rescued me and Liz from those awful men in New York, I didn't know how to feel toward him. I knew I was angry and hurt, but I was also thankful to see him alive. And I trusted him. I trusted him right away. I don't think I could have done that if he wasn't really our Will, do you know what I mean?"

Driving through the picturesque Virginia countryside toward Kensington's mansion, Jay tried to sort out his feelings for Will. Like Kim, the first time he had seen Will alive after the Drexler, walking calmly across a parking lot at the Deer Harbor train station, Jay had been overcome by a mixture of intense emotions. Chief among those had been real, pure joy that his friend was still alive. Out of all the terrible things that had happened to Tyler and Jay up to that point, Jay thought the worst had to have been believing that he had spoken to Will in his final moments, that the last words he would ever hear Will say were, _"I'm sorry I had to do this_."

Jay let his mind drift back to what was probably his best memory of Will – a memory that had been sullied since learning of Will's deception, a memory that Jay wanted back, free from the taint of the lies Will had told…

It had happened days before their first Thanksgiving as roommates. Tyler had just announced to Jay downstairs that he would not, in fact, be joining the Fog family for turkey and pie, because his father had phoned minutes before with the news that one of his hostile corporate takeovers had fallen through and he would be in Paris on business over the holiday. Jay had suggested that perhaps Tyler and his brother could get together on their own, to which Tyler snorted, "Yeah, that's not gonna happen in this lifetime. So what's the big plan for you?"

Jay shrugged. "Nothing much. Studying. Kim's going to her parents', I think against her will, but Thanksgiving is a big thing for them, so…"

Tyler arched an eyebrow. "No plans for jetting off to sunny California?"

Jay avoided his friend's eyes. He liked Tyler all right, but Jay was extremely private about his family history. He wasn't ashamed, he would always tell himself firmly. He just couldn't stand how people looked at him with such sympathy and concern when he told them his father was dead, and then when he told them how…Well, those looks turned to out-right pity. Jay found it easier not to say much about his past than to deal with that. Thus far, he hadn't mentioned to either of his roommates that he had not been back to Long Beach since leaving for college at eighteen, or that he and his mother rarely spoke because, in Jay's opinion, she had abandoned his father when he needed him most, or that he could no longer speak to his father at all.

"I need to study," was all he said, sounding evasive even to his own ears.

"I suppose Will's heading off to Deer Run or whatever the name of that little nowhere town is," Tyler mused. "Has he said anything to you about it?"

No, Jay felt like saying to Tyler, Will and I tend to be less open with our life stories than you. Not wanting to hurt Tyler's feelings, however, he simply answered, "I haven't noticed him packing, but that doesn't mean anything, I guess. Why? You aren't thinking of making Thanksgiving dinner here, are you?"

The grin Tyler gave him told Jay that his friend was thinking just that. "Jay, my friend, think about it this way: Can you imagine a better way to get sympathy from girls than to announce that we are three lonely bachelors – well, I guess Will and I are bachelors, but you can still be lonely – who are being forced, by cruel fate, to spend Thanksgiving separated from our nearest and dearest? I promise you, this place will be crawling with girls. Girls, Jay, who will cook for us. And those are the best kind."

Jay couldn't help but laugh. "I'll go see what Will's plans are," he offered, knowing the third member of their trio was up in his room, laboring over a project for one of his chemical engineering classes. "But you better not mention to my girlfriend what you're planning, or I have a bad feeling I'll be spending Thanksgiving in Queens, and I really need to study."

Tyler promised to keep his lips sealed around Kim. Jay trotted up the wooden staircase and knocked on Will's closed door. After a slight pause – Will was often so caught up in his work it seemed to take him a minute to return to earth when interrupted – Will called, "Yup, come in."

"Hey." Jay noted that the room smelled funny, almost sulfuric, and wrinkled his nose. Eyeing the beakers and test tubes spread out on Will's normally immaculate desk, he asked, "What are you doing, getting ready to poison us?"

"Technically, yes." Will dropped a pair of safety glasses on the desk and rubbed his eyes, rolling his chair away from the odd-smelling substances. "It's a pesticide. It'll probably be the next DDT – Will Traveler's contribution to American history."

He looked and sounded quite frustrated with the project's progress and glad for an excuse to take a break. "So, what's up?"

"Tyler's dad canceled Thanksgiving dinner on him."

Will rolled his eyes. "Shocker. What's Tyler done, gone on a binge?"

Jay chuckled. "No. Worse. He wants to have Thanksgiving dinner here. He thinks it'll attract sympathetic girls."

"Yeah, one girl in particular," his roommate muttered. Jay knew who Will meant – Nell Graham, who seemed to have captured Tyler's fancy primarily because she didn't fawn all over him. She had actually gone for a week without returning his call after Will introduced them.

"So he wants to know if you're going to Deer Harbor for the holiday or not," Jay continued, slightly embarrassed because he felt nosy. Almost unconsciously, his gaze traveled to the photo of Will and his father sitting on the shelf above Will's bed, in practically the exact same location where Jay kept a photo of himself and his father.

In the picture, Will looked to be about ten. He was standing on the prow of a small boat in a dirty tee-shirt and muddy boots, proudly holding up an enormous bass, while beside him a man who looked too much like him not to be his father dangled a teeny-tiny snapper from his own hook. The boy and his father were laughing, turned not toward the camera but toward one another, their cheeks red from the cold and eyes alight with happiness.

Will followed Jay's gaze and stood up, walking over to the picture and studying it. "That's my dad," he told Jay, who crossed the room to join him. "I was eleven. We'd been out all day and hadn't caught a damn thing. You should have heard him cuss when that happened. Then all of a sudden we both got a bite at the same time, and I'm fighting to reel in this massive beauty," Will pointed at the fish his eleven-year-old self was holding, "and Dad's like, 'I can't help you, son, I've got my own,' and then he comes up with this itty-bitty fish after I nearly break my arm trying to hold my line by myself."

Telling the story, Will was laughing, yet Jay saw a telltale sadness in his friend's eyes. Jay's palms began to sweat. Could Will's father be dead, too?

As the smile slowly faded from his face, Will lovingly returned the picture to its place on the shelf. Without looking at Jay, he said, "That was the last picture ever taken of us. Six months later, he drowned."

Something vital for breathing constricted in the region of Jay's heart. He found himself unable to move or speak for several moments, until Will turned to him with a blazing look that said plainly, _Don't you dare pity me._

Recognizing it at once, Jay hurried to say, "I know how that feels. My dad died when I was young. About eleven, actually." He cleared his throat and summoned the courage to continue. "He, uh, he killed himself."

Will blanched. To Jay's relief, however, he offered no empty condolences. Instead, Will forced a smile onto his face and said, with a valiant attempt at cheerfulness, "Well, Thanksgiving was never a big holiday in the Traveler household, so I guess I can contribute to Tyler's wooing efforts – if you're staying," he added hastily, looking panicked at the idea of spending Thanksgiving with Tyler and a cadre of his admirers.

"I told him I was in," Jay assured his friend. "Well, I'll go report the good news to Tyler and let you get back to work."

At the doorway, Jay paused to look back at his friend, who he was not surprised to see still standing in front of the picture of his father, gazing at it with an all-too-familiar longing…

Jay was fairly certain that he understood what Kim had meant by "their Will." Somehow, the more he pressed on it, the less it mattered that Will had never actually been a chemical engineer, or that he wasn't from Deer Harbor, or that his name wasn't even Will Traveler. It didn't even matter so much, Jay suddenly realized, that Will's father hadn't really drowned. What mattered was that the friendship Will had shown them had been real.

_Will came back for us when he could have saved himself. He's stuck with us and protected us no matter how bad things have gotten. And after what he did for us in Crystal City, we know he's more than willing to sacrifice his own life for ours…_

"Their Will," as Kim had put it, was not a cruel, cold, calculating spy. Their Will was loyal, brave, and – odd as it was for describing someone schooled in deceit – _sincere. _That was the best word Jay had for conveying the truth that underpinned Will's countless lies. For though Will had not been honest with his roommates, Jay knew he did honestly care about them.

While Jay was reminiscing, Nell had turned off the highway and driven down a long, tree-lined private drive, passing through a security gate before coming to a stop in front of Kensington's impressive plantation home. "You're awfully quiet," Tyler commented from the passenger's seat as Nell parked.

Seeming to sense that they needed some privacy, Nell said she would see them inside. Tyler waited until she had climbed out of the car to confess, "I'm scared to see how bad they hurt him, too."

Jay had to smile – how like Tyler to be able to put into words exactly what he was thinking. Despite coming from different worlds, Jay and Tyler understood one another as only best friends could.

"It can't be that bad," Jay offered. "I mean, he's not in a hospital or anything."

"You don't think he's dead and they just wouldn't tell us, do you?" Tyler was staring out the windshield at the front door, as if he expected a funeral procession to emerge at any moment.

Jay couldn't even contemplate that possibility. "No, I don't think he's dead. But let's go inside and see for ourselves, okay?"

A middle-aged Latino maid ushered them through the glass-fronted double doors into a gorgeous foyer, dominated by an enormous crystal chandelier and a fantastic, free-standing spiral staircase carved out of what appeared to be solid oak. Even Tyler, who was used to wealth, whistled. "Nice," he commented. "Working for the CIA must be more profitable than I thought."

"Depends on where you're at in the food chain, I suppose, but none of this was paid for by the CIA. This home has been in my family for sixty years."

The speaker, a tall, distinguished-looking black man, emerged from a doorway to their left, smiling. Jay recognized the deep, rich baritone, having heard it once before, but he had to admit that the man himself was quite impressive, the very picture of cultured refinement.

"I'm Andrew Kensington," the man said politely, as if they didn't know. He shook both of their hands in turn. "I'm very glad to have you here. And, if I may be so bold, I would like to say that the country owes you both a debt of gratitude for what you accomplished in Miami. I'm told by members of my organization – " Jay knew he didn't mean the CIA and shared a wary glance with Tyler " – that the lab contained the entirety of the Morbus stores, and that those were completely destroyed in the blast."

_So the only surviving sample is the one Will and Kate smuggled out before leaving Miami. Hope that doesn't come back to haunt us…_

"Uh, thanks, Mr. Kensington," Tyler said, sounding as awkward at their cordial reception as Jay felt – they weren't even sure whose side this man was really on, so it was difficult to accept praise from him with a straight face. "But if you don't mind, we'd really like to see our friends now."

Kensington started up the staircase, saying, "Of course. Mr. Traveler is being well cared for, I assure you. Kaitlyn has hardly left his side since they arrived. But I have to warn you," he paused and looked back at them somberly from the second-floor landing, "your friend did suffer some fairly serious injuries. Nothing life-threatening, but…"

"But he looks bad."

Kate, stepping into the hallway from a room three doors down, finished Kensington's sentence for him. Jay saw with a renewed rush of relief that she at least appeared to have emerged from captivity unscathed: Aside from dark circles under her eyes, she looked like the same old Kate, right down to her loose-fitting faded jeans and ponytail.

Tyler and he both hurried forward to embrace her in turn. Kate held onto each of them tightly; Jay sensed that, although she bore no physical marks, her time in captivity had been as harrowing as Will's. Up close, he could also see that she was pale from fatigue, her dusting of freckles standing out sharply against her chalky skin.

"When was the last time you slept?" Jay demanded of her.

She passed a hand across her eyes. "I don't know. I forget." She gestured toward the room she had just left. "Anyway, he's in there, and he's awake, if you want to see him."

"Kaitlyn, could I have a word?" Kensington asked solicitously.

Kate nodded. Promising Tyler and Jay that she would be back, she followed her boss down the staircase, talking too quietly for them to pick up her words.

Alone in the hall, Jay and Tyler looked uneasily at one another. Jay knew they were both wondering if they could stomach seeing what had been done to Will – what they had left him to endure, albeit out of necessity.

_It's not going to get any easier standing around imagining the worst, so just go in there._

Jay steeled himself and led the way into the room. As soon as he crossed the threshold, though, he knew he hadn't adequately prepared himself, because he almost had to turn away.

Will was sitting up in a huge four-poster bed, hooked up to an IV and a monitor that seemed to be measuring his pulse and breathing. He looked terrible: Purple-black bruises marked his forehead, the right side of his jaw, and what they could see of his chest over the collar of his tee-shirt; his eyes were sunken into plum-colored circles, the right eye bloody around the iris; both of his wrists and his right forearm were heavily bandaged; his left ankle was wrapped in an Ace bandage and propped on a pillow, his toes blue-black and swollen as if someone had stomped on his foot; stitches closed up what had apparently been fairly deep gashes above his right ear, his left temple and his top lip; numerous cuts flecked his cheeks and arms.

White-hot rage burned through Jay. _If whoever did this to him isn't dead, I want first crack at killing them._

"Jesus," Tyler muttered.

Surrounded by papers and seemingly absorbed in his work, Will didn't even glance up as they came in. He said distractedly, "Kate, I don't want anymore morphine, I mean it. I need to concentrate. And you need to sleep – "

"Gee, I can tell you're being a model patient," Tyler, having recovered his composure, cut Will off teasingly.

The smile that lit up Will's face was so discordant with his bruises and bandages that Jay felt like crying, though of course he wouldn't have in front of his friends. "Try having a CIA agent for a nurse – she sneaks pain medicine into everything," Will defended himself.

Will looked so relieved that Jay knew his friend had been as worried about them as they had been about him. The male friend dynamic didn't allow for gushing over one another, however, so Jay wasn't offended when Will remarked lightly, "Heard you guys went off and had some fun without me."

"Yeah, we're slowly moving up the ladder of criminal offenses," Jay joined in the banter. He walked over to the side of the bed and sat down, careful not to disturb Will's papers; Tyler plopped into a cushioned, fan-backed chair on the other side of the bed, beside the IV pole. "You know, illegal wire-tapping, computer hacking, breaking and entering, kidnapping. Blowing up a building was the next logical step, really."

Will started to laugh but grabbed his side and stopped, drawing in a shaky breath. The mood in the room sobered immediately. Jay and Tyler shared a worried look across the bed.

Seeing it, Will brushed off his injuries with same aplomb he had shown after being shot. "It looks worse than it is," he assured them. "I wouldn't still be in bed if Kate wasn't playing warden. Just don't make me laugh," he added.

"Yeah, you look like you're ready to run a marathon," Jay put in, determined to keep things light. He could tell Will did not want to be treated like a victim. Nodding at the papers strewn about the bed, he observed, "Doesn't seem like you've slowed down too much, actually. What is all this?"

"Take a look." Will handed him one of the papers. As Jay began to read, he automatically recognized the language of a pardon agreement – a pardon agreement offering total immunity to whoever signed it…

He looked at Will over the top of the page. "Is this what I think it is?"

"What?" Tyler asked excitedly, leaning forward. "What is it?"

"It's an official pardon, exonerating you for all those criminal activities you've been involved in and acknowledging that you played no part in the Drexler bombing," Will answered, looking gratified by their shocked expressions. "You're not the only ones who've been busy, you know. Just because I haven't blown up anything lately doesn't mean I've been sitting on my ass.

"Kate and I have been going over the language in these, trying to make sure we don't leave any loopholes," he said to Jay, tapping one of the papers. "But now that you're here, I think you'd better have a go at it. The law's not my thing."

Jay was afraid to hope that Will was saying what he thought he was saying. "And this is going to be signed? By the president or someone?"

Will nodded. He shifted positions as if trying to find one that was comfortable; the monitor beside him beeped, and he glared at it.

"What's wrong?" Tyler asked, alarmed.

"Nothing. The doctor Kensington sent in wanted to watch my heart rate for a while, that's all. If I roll over, the damn thing acts like I've had a cardiac arrest."

Jay had a sick feeling that he knew what sort of torture Will would have undergone that would require monitoring his heart rhythm: electro-shock. In some of his more unguarded moments, Jay's father had revealed to his son disturbing aspects of his service with the Marines, especially his service in Vietnam. One of his duties had been interrogation. Jay clearly remembered the techniques his father had described, because imagining his dad, whom he adored, inflicting that kind of pain on anyone had upset him greatly.

In his mind's eye, Jay saw a campfire on a rugged hillside in northern California, heard his father's low, steady voice speaking quietly in the night: "Even the toughest guys fold under electro-shock," he had related, sounding ashamed of his actions but, for some reason, doggedly determined to share them with his ten-year-old son. "It's an awful thing, to see a grown man reduced to sobs and screams like that. Don't ever become a soldier, Jay – you're a better man than I am, and I want you to stay that way..."

Coming back to the present, Jay tried to focus on the fact that Will was safe now. Furthermore, the pardon agreement he and Kate had been revising suggested that a plan was in the works – a plan that might end this nightmare once and for all.

"What would make the president pardon us?" he pressed Will. "Isn't he being basically controlled by the Branch?"

"Kensington's decided to fight dirty," Will replied, sounding immensely pleased by that fact. "He told me and Kate that he and a lot of the other Branch members, like President Shears, have had it with people like Maxwell Abrams calling all the shots, and they're not going to sit back and take it anymore. They want to use the evidence we gathered to put guys like Abrams – the really dangerous and really powerful members of the Branch who want to do things like release chemical weapons on the American public – in prison."

Tyler shook his head, bewildered. "Wait a sec. Kensington's turning on the Branch?"

"On part of it," Will corrected. "He's telling the same story your dad did, Tyler – that the Branch has been divided in its mission for a long time, between people who want to use their power to protect the country and people who want to use it for their own gain. He says finding out that Buchanan had created a biological weapon right under their noses was the last straw. He says they're ready to fight back."

"Do you believe him?" Jay asked simply. He was prepared to follow Will's lead on this, because in all honesty, he had no idea what – or who – to believe.

Will thought about that before saying, "I think so, yeah. Kate and I discussed the possibility that the Branch is really just trying to trick us into handing over our evidence. But why bother? I mean, they've got us all here now, and they know where Kim and Liz are, and I'm living proof that they aren't afraid to ask hard when they want answers."

Jay winced at the reminder of his friend's interrogation. Catching Tyler's eye, he started, "Listen, Will, we, uh, we're sorry that we didn't come for you and Kate. We wanted to, but – "

"You did what I told you to do," Will interrupted harshly. Softening his tone, he went on, "You did what needed to be done, both of you. You saved a hell of a lot more people by blowing up that lab than you would've by coming after us."

"We just don't want you to think that it was an easy call for us, Will," Tyler spoke up, like Jay reluctant to let the subject drop until it was clear that Will understood how difficult leaving him to his tormentors had been. "It's not…It wasn't like we were pissed off and just decided to abandon you, or whatever."

"Honestly," Jay put in earnestly, "we wanted to get you out, more than anything."

An awkward silence fell, reminiscent of the time shortly after their reunion when Tyler had declared that he and Jay loved Will in spite of his deception. Just as he had then, Will passed over the moment with good-natured humor: "That's really sweet, guys. I'm touched that you didn't want me to be tortured to death. But I'd like to hold off on the group hug until after my ribs are healed, okay?"

"Will, my friend, you need to get more comfortable sharing your emotions," Tyler declared, mock-serious. "And you know what? I may hug your skinny little ass one of these days, so just get prepared."

"How exactly do you prepare for something like that?" Jay inquired of Tyler.

Will snorted with laughter and immediately doubled over in pain. "Stop. Making. Me. Laugh," he ordered through gritted teeth.

"You guys are not supposed to be exciting the patient." Nell's voice from the doorway caused them all to look up. "You two are under orders from Kate to clear out in five minutes, by the way. Hi, Will," she added.

Jay watched Will struggle briefly with how to respond to this new development. "Hi, Nell," he said uncertainly, glancing from Jay to Tyler. "Did the FBI bring you here?"

"It's okay," Tyler told him. "We know she was working with you. She's not Hometown, though. She's actually CIA, did Kensington tell you?"

"No, he must have left that little factoid out." Will didn't seem particularly perturbed to discover that Nell had been a double-agent; Jay wondered if, like himself, Will was becoming accustomed to no one turning out to be who they said they were. Or maybe he had been a spy so long he was already used to that.

Nell walked over to the bed and pecked a sisterly kiss on Will's cheek. "These guys were seriously worried about you, Will. I kept telling them you'd get yourself out."

"Good to know someone has confidence in me," Will quipped.

Surveying his wounds, Nell clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "They did a number on you, didn't they? Who was it? I know not Abrams – he doesn't get his hands dirty, creepy old bastard. Was it Drummond? He's a sadist."

"No, it was Alex."

"Ugly bitch. I never liked her. I hope you killed her." Nell glanced down at her watch. "Okay, that's two minutes up, you've got three left to say good-bye. Then Kate's coming back up here, and if I were you, I would not be caught disobeying her orders right now."

With that, Nell breezed out of the room as airily as she had entered, leaving Jay slightly off-center. He had never imagined Nell Graham serenely discussing torture and murder. Nevertheless, he had to admit, it was strangely comforting to know she was still around while Will was laid up and Kate was distracted by caring for him. Jay had a feeling Nell was not a woman to be trifled with, and he also suspected that she meant what she had said in Stone's apartment – she would protect him and Tyler if they needed it.

"Okay, listen." Apparently not intending to risk Kate's wrath by going over their allotted visiting time, Will became serious. "These pardon agreements, this whole deal we're working out, it's contingent on us handing the evidence we have against the Branch over to Kensington and his cohorts. I mean all of it, all of the originals of everything.

"It's a big gamble, guys, I'm not gonna lie to you. That evidence is all we've got. If they go back on their word…"

Will didn't have to finish; Jay and Tyler understood. If Kensington took their evidence and then reneged on the pardon agreements, they would either all be murdered or sent to prison for life, possibly even executed as traitors and terrorists. They would literally be putting their lives in the hands of the very people who had tried to frame them for the Drexler and who had spent the better part of two months trying to kill them.

"I say let's do it," Tyler spoke up first, more decisive than Jay thought he had ever heard him. "We can't keep running around looking for ways to out-gun these people. We're going to get ourselves killed. I mean, good Christ, look at what they've already done." He surveyed with undisguised horror the evidence of the Branch's cruelty displayed on Will's battered body.

"It doesn't get much worse than this," Tyler concluded. "So I say let's do it and be done with it. If it works, it works. If it doesn't, it's over."

"Jay?" Will turned to him. "Do you want to talk to Kim first? She is your wife. You should probably decide this together."

But Jay knew what Kim would say, so he shook his head. "I don't need to. Kim trusts your judgment, Will, and so do I. If you say this is the best way, then I'm in."

"Okay." Will was in his element, oblivious to his injuries as he leaned forward to explain what he had in mind. "Here's what we're going to do. When Kate lets me out of this room in a day or two, she's going to meet with Kensington and his pals to work out the exact terms of the exchange. And the three of us," his mischievous smile told Jay that Will had saved the best part of the plan for last, "are going on another roadtrip."

**Part 2**

Two days later, Kate finally agreed that Will was healed well enough to return to action – though, she warned Jay and Tyler in Kensington's kitchen while Will was upstairs showering, she didn't want him seeing any actual "action."

"He's hurt worse than he wants you to know," she informed them. "He's got broken ribs and a hairline fracture in his right wrist and he's getting over a nasty concussion from practically having his brain knocked out. Not to mention all his torn muscles and ligaments from convulsing during the electro-shock. And he has to keep taking his antibiotics so those cuts on his arm and wrists don't get infected."

Eager for the laundry-list of Will's injuries to end (imagining Will under torture made Tyler slightly nauseous), Tyler promised quickly, "We'll take care of him, Kate. It's a long drive to…where we're going," he finished carefully, wary, like all of them, of saying too much in Kensington's house, where anyone could be listening. "He can stretch out in the backseat and sleep most of the way."

"I still think you should fly," Kate fretted, chewing on a fingernail. Tyler didn't know when he had seen her so nervous; she was like a mother hen flitting around her chicks. "Kensington could arrange a plane – "

"And then the Branch would know exactly where we're going, and we could all be screwed," Will pronounced, sauntering into the kitchen to quash the suggestion as he had every other time Kate had made it. His skin and hair were still damp from the shower, but he was obviously eager to be on the road because he had his backpack slung over his shoulder.

Kate insisted on changing the bandage on his forearm once more before they left. Tyler felt a stab of longing for Liz as he watched her, noting the tenderness in her touch. Whenever he thought about Liz, a gaping hole threatened to open up beneath Tyler's heart, sucking him back down into the black place where he had been after his father's death, until Thad's message had snapped him out of it. He hadn't wanted to let her go, but he had tried to do the right thing, because he could tell that she needed to leave.

Without Liz around, life had been lonely. Tyler missed having someone to worry whether he was eating or sleeping or cold or sad, someone to snuggle up to at night, someone to make him forget, in sweet little intimate moments, how awful things were all around them.

_You did the damage on that one, my friend, so deal with it. She deserved better than you gave her._

At least Will was mending. He looked considerably more whole than when they had first arrived. His bruises were gradually fading to a sickly yellowish-green; he was able to put weight on his sprained ankle and bruised foot; blood had stopped oozing from around his stitches. He still tired easily – a side-effect of electro-shock, Jay had told Tyler, which was more than he wanted to know about what Will had suffered – and moved gingerly because of his cracked ribs, plus he could hardly make a fist with his right hand because of the fracture in his wrist, but still, he had improved dramatically in two days. He was tough, that was for sure.

Tyler looked away from the surgically-neat cuts on Will's arm as Kate unwound the soiled bandage. O-L-I-V-I-A. He had hardly been able to believe his eyes when he had first seen the letters. Could anyone really be that cruel, to carve their dead lover's name into someone else's flesh? After seeing that, he had been more respectful of Kate's decision to run over the woman who had tortured Will.

Nell had let him in on that juicy piece of gossip. Glancing into the dining room, Tyler wondered if Nell would be around to see them off. Kensington often sent her out on various assignments; he was keeping a close eye on his enemies and his friends, Nell had told Tyler, because he was concerned about a double-cross. A very likely event with these people.

If it hadn't been for Jay popping up each time Nell and Tyler happened to be alone, Tyler reflected sourly while Kate dabbed antibiotic ointment on Will's arm, he might not have been so lonely. Nell had made no bones about wanting to pick up right where they had left off in her New Haven basement. While he wasn't certain how he felt about her – Tyler wasn't really certain how he felt about anything anymore, after all that had happened to him in the last eight weeks – he would have welcomed the human comfort. But Jay seemed determined to keep them apart.

"She's a spy, Tyler," Jay had admonished him just the day before, speaking quietly on the terrace where they were less likely to be overheard. "And more than that, she's part of this, part of whatever Kensington is doing. You don't know if we can trust her."

"Or do you just think I should be holding out for Liz to forgive me?" Tyler had challenged. Secretly, he thought that he should have been, and he couldn't help transferring those thoughts into Jay's mind as well. Defensively, he had continued, "I know she and Kim are friends, Jay, but Liz made it pretty clear that things are finished between us. And it's not like we were married, anyway."

"I don't care what happened between you and Liz, you cannot seriously be considering hooking up with a woman who has lied to you for two years," Jay had snapped back. "You don't even know her real name, Tyler. She may say it's Helen, but it could be Tabitha or Vicky or God knows what. We just don't know."

_We don't know Will's name, either, but we trust him, _Tyler had wanted to say, but didn't. He hated fighting with Jay. Life was much more pleasant when they were all getting along, and since they were going to be cooped up in a car together for the next few days, he preferred for life to be pleasant.

The television in the living room suddenly attracted their attention: As had been common over the past two days, a "breaking news" report about the explosion at Belenus Pharmaceuticals interrupted regular programming. Each that time happened, Tyler's stomach churned. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop – for the anchorperson to gravely inform that that, in fact, a terrible disease had been released during the blast (Marlow had shared Nell's concerns about Dr. Murden's trustworthiness with them on the flight out, scaring Tyler half to death with the possibility that they had just conducted the attack they meant to stop), or that the FBI now had evidence that the gas-leak story was bogus and the People's Militia, headed by notorious Drexler bombing suspects Jay Burchell and Tyler Fog, was actually behind the explosion. Either one of those outcomes was too horrible to even contemplate, because one would mean that he had helped sign the death warrants of thousands of innocent people, while the other would mean Kensington had really and truly double-crossed them.

They all hurried into the living room, Kate winding clean white gauze Will's arm as they sat together on the gigantic sofa. Tyler and Jay stood behind the couch, side-by-side, both holding their breaths.

"We take a break from regular programming to bring you an update on the explosion at Belenus Pharmaceuticals in Miami two days ago," the perky brunette anchorwoman was saying, rather too cheerfully for her subject matter. "The Fire Marshall in Miami-Dade County announced this morning that no remains have been found inside the laboratory or in the surrounding area. The last employee who had been unaccounted for, Dr. Marta Schuller, contacted authorities last night to say she had been on a humanitarian aid mission in the Amazon and did not know about the bombing until late yesterday."

Tyler sagged with relief. They hadn't killed a single person – he knew he would be able to sleep better tonight knowing that. _Bombs do not a better world make, even if what we did was for the "greater good"…_

The last thing he wanted was to start thinking like the Branch, that any amount of destruction was worth it to achieve his ends.

But the anchorwoman wasn't finished. "Search and rescue efforts at the site of the explosion had been hampered by the sensitive nature of the materials handled inside the Belenus laboratory. A Haz-Mat team from the FDA completed their inspection of the site yesterday afternoon and declared that no hazardous conditions existed, clearing the way for rescue workers to finish their search. This morning, Belenus Pharmaceuticals' founder and CEO Vivian Buchanan issued this statement regarding the safety and security of the facility."

The words appeared on the screen beside a picture of the WASP-ish Buchanan as the anchorwoman read Buchanan's statement for the audience: "A preliminary investigation by the Miami-Dade Fire Marshall and Homeland Security continues to support our initial suspicions that a gas leak was responsible for the explosion. Belenus Pharmaceuticals values the safety of each and every one of our employees – " Tyler, Jay and Will all snorted derisively in unison " – and we are making every effort to determine why a maintenance order reporting the continued smell of natural gas in the basement did not receive proper attention. My husband Ted and I take full responsibility for any administrative oversights that may have contributed to this disaster.

"However, we want to assure the public, especially the citizens of Miami, that Belenus Pharmaceuticals, like every pharmaceutical research company, takes all possible precautions to protect against the release of any harmful substance. It would be extremely unlikely for any of the materials that we work with to contaminate the areas surrounding our laboratories, and we are confident that the FDA's assessment that no risk was posed to the public by the explosion in Miami will prove to be correct."

That seemed to be the end of anything new; the anchorwoman began reviewing facts and theories they had already heard. Turning to the others, Jay said, "Well, it looks like Kensington's cover story is holding up so far. Guess that means Buchanan and her husband haven't run to the other Branch members and tattled on us."

"I think they value their lives a little too much for that," Will remarked. He and Kate shared a private-joke sort of smile when he added, "Ted and Vivian are probably the most self-involved people on the planet. I doubt they'll be sticking their necks out too far when they're facing death row for cooking up bioweapons."

"Besides, Kensington is having them watched around the clock. If they make a move…" Kate, who had at last finished her ministrations, didn't have to finish that sentence for them to know what would happen to the Buchanans if they bucked Kensington.

The boys gathered their things and headed into the foyer. "Be careful," Kate warned them all, hugging Jay and Tyler. She didn't hug Will, Tyler noticed, though she did touch his shoulder, saying, "Don't overdo it, please."

"I'll be good, I swear. I'll even take my pills," Will promised, already turning to leave.

Well, at least they had made physical contact, Tyler mused. It was an improvement over their last good-bye, so maybe things were looking up for Will's love life after all.

Outside, a silver Cadillac Escalade awaited them. Tyler slid behind the wheel and lovingly fingered the leather upholstery. "Now this is the way to travel," he told his friends, as Jay climbed into the passenger's seat and Will squirmed around in the back, trying to get comfortable. "No more stolen Hondas or cheap-ass Fords. You've got to give it to Kensington, the man likes his creature comforts."

"You can take the boy out of Manhattan – " Will began.

" – but you can't take Manhattan out of the boy," Jay finished their old joke, one they had often pulled out whenever Tyler allowed his materialism to show through.

"Cute. How far is it to Illinois?" Tyler shot back, feigning annoyance with his friends. In truth, it felt good to be just the three of them again – just the guys, heading out on the open road.

On a mission that, if the very dangerous and very powerful people who wanted them all dead found out about, could be the last thing they ever attempted. But still, Tyler saw no reason not to make the best of things.

And, actually, as they made their way over curving mountain roads, past fields of late-summer corn, and around winding rivers into the Midwest, Tyler was able to imagine how wonderful their roadtrip would have been had Will really been Will, their boys' summer really about time together instead of a secret society's deadly plot. Jay and Tyler took turns driving, since the trip took close to fifteen hours and, time being of the essence, they needed to arrive at their destination quickly; Will stretched out in the backseat, hurting, Tyler was sure, yet laughing along with them and telling jokes and reminiscing about their time in New Haven as if it had all been real to him, as if he had never been a spy. They all let the pleasant fiction stand. In fact, Tyler noted, they all seemed to half-forget that it was a fiction.

Somewhere in Kentucky they picked up a Cubs game on the radio, and for three hours they yelled and cheered and booed until their team eventually lost. "Dammit," Jay said, when the last Cubs' batter struck out in the bottom of the ninth, ending the game with their team two runs back. "That's the fourth game in a row, too."

Will sat up slowly in the backseat and carefully leaned forward. "Jay," he asked tentatively, "how in the world have you managed to keep up with baseball?"

"Well, you see, I have my priorities straight, Will," Jay answered with a perfectly straight face. They all burst out laughing.

About two hours later, with the digital clock on the dashboard reading five minutes past eleven and darkness blanketing the roadsides around them, Will sat forward once more. "You're going to need to get off the Interstate here," he instructed Tyler, pointing at an exit sign that read "Red Bud – 16 miles."

The mood became more somber as they drove through the empty midnight streets of a very small town. Tyler wondered what Will's connection to this place was: Could it have been his hometown? Or had he chosen it, like so many of his other hiding places (Deer Harbor, Boston Hall, the safehouse in Massachusetts), seemingly at random?

They drove well outside of town into the countryside. Finally, just when Tyler had begun to think Will was lost, his friend pointed to a gravel road heading west off the highway. "There. Take that."

"Where exactly are we going?" Jay asked Will. Like Tyler, he seemed to have been under the impression that their final destination was Red Bud itself, not a cornfield somewhere near the town.

"Here," Will answered, as Tyler brought the Escalade to a stop in front of a small, out-of-the-way cemetery. "Let's go."

They climbed out of the car, stiff and sore from hours on the road with only a couple of bathroom breaks. While Jay and Tyler stretched, Will limped around to the back of the SUV and lifted out the two shovels they had brought along. "You guys will have to dig," he told them, sounding rather apologetic. "I don't think I can use my right hand well enough to make much progress."

"You think anybody will see us?" Tyler looked around. He was nervous about being caught, but he had to admit that it didn't seem likely. They were literally in the middle of nowhere: A dense woods ringed the cemetery to the north, east and south, and he had seen no houses or barns or any signs of life on the access road they had just driven down. They were several miles from the highway as well, so it wasn't as if passing cars would spot them.

"I think we'll be okay." Without further ado, Will led the way into the cemetery.

Will came to a stop in front of a small granite tombstone. _Nora O'Connor_, it read, with a date of birth and a date of death underneath. Tyler did the math in his head. Whoever Nora O'Connor was, she had been thirty years old when she died, nearly twelve years ago now.

Jay hesitated as Will handed him and Tyler each a shovel. "We're digging up a grave?" he asked incredulously.

"Not the whole thing. The evidence is buried about four feet down, in two metal canisters," Will answered. "Start there, close to the stone." He pointed to an inconspicuous strip of dirt that had been recently disturbed.

Will held a flashlight for them as they began to dig. It was hot, tiring work; even so late at night, the air was uncomfortably warm and humid. Within minutes both Jay and Tyler were drenched in sweat.

"Hurt your arm my ass," Jay remarked to Will, pulling his tee-shirt off over his head and discarding it in the grass. Tyler followed suit. "You just don't want to dig."

Will grinned. "Hey, being tortured has to have perks." Despite his flippancy, Tyler thought his friend looked pale and weak in the moonlight, and he hoped the trip was not going to over-tax what strength Will had regained in the last few days.

Finally, their shovels clanged against metal. Tyler and Jay used their fingers to scrape moist, dark earth away from two long cylinders that had been buried straight down into the dirt. Tyler assumed Will had buried the canisters vertically rather than horizontally to avoid digging up the length of the grave, which would have left a suspicious-looking mound of dirt instead of a small pile near the headstone.

"Here we go." Will opened the canisters after his friends handed them up. Confirming that the contents were safe and dry, he popped the air-tight lids back on. "Everything's there."

"I need a minute," Jay confessed, climbing out of the grave and sitting down on the dew-damp grass. Tyler, arms aching from the shoveling, gratefully flopped down beside him.

Will gingerly lowered himself to the ground, holding his ribs as he did so. Tyler noticed that his friend avoided looking directly into the grave.

"Who was she?" Tyler asked, overcome by curiosity.

Will was quiet for so long that Tyler thought he didn't mean to answer. Then, softly, he said, "She was my mother."

_So Will did grow up in Red Bud. And his last name is O'Connor._

Tyler tried not to think about the fact that the remains of his best friend's mother were moldering a few feet beneath him. Edging discreetly away from the open grave, he wondered if it would be pushing Will's secretive nature too far to press for details. Deciding it was worth a shot, especially given their renewed camaraderie, he asked, "How did she die?"

"Lupus." Will's voice was emotionless; his face, half-hidden in shadow, was expressionless. "She got sick when I was really little. She was on dialysis before the end, but her kidneys finally just gave out."

Glancing at the stone, Tyler did another quick calculation. Twelve years ago…If Will was in his mid-twenties, he would have been about thirteen when his mother died.

"What about your dad?" Jay finally put the question to Will that Tyler knew his friend had been wanting to ask since the night Will returned for them in New York.

"He ran out on me when I was sixteen. Never heard from him again." Will must have caught his friends' sympathetic looks, because he told them coolly, "Best thing that ever happened to me. My whole life he was nothing but a worthless junkie. He probably died in a ditch someplace as a John Doe."

"But the picture, of you two together fishing," Jay protested. "You looked so happy."

"That was my uncle," Will corrected, his voice warming a bit. "The only thing he had in common with my father was how much they looked alike. He was a good guy. He helped Mom and me out a lot, when Dad would disappear for weeks and we wouldn't have any money."

Tyler picked up on the past tense and suddenly made the connection. "Your uncle's the one who drowned," he realized.

Will nodded. "The summer I turned twelve. He loved to swim – he was All American in high school, got offered a swim scholarship to the U of I, but he didn't like school. Anyway, there's a big lake near here, where we used to fish, and he could practically swim across it. One day he went out alone and didn't come back. They said he must have gotten a cramp when he was too far out to make it back to shore." Gesturing into the inky blackness, Will noted, "He's buried over there, about two rows back."

_Twelve when his uncle, who sounds like he was the only father Will ever knew, died, and thirteen when his mother died, and sixteen when his dad took off…No wonder he ended up a spy._

Tyler had privately been carrying around the idea that Will chose a life of danger and adventure out of boredom. Tyler supposed that was why he would have opted for such an existence at eighteen. Confronted with the realization that Hometown had likely been the best chance Will had of escaping a painful, lonely past, Tyler experienced a white-hot stab of guilt over the resentment he had harbored toward his friend.

They sat in silence for a long while, until at last Jay stood up, brushed himself off, and began wordlessly filling in the hole they had made. Tyler helped. Will continued to sit, watching them but looking a million miles away.

When they finished, Tyler helped Will to his feet, careful not to hold his arm too tightly because of his injured muscles. "Thanks," Will said quietly, still staring at his mother's tombstone.

"Was she nice?" Tyler found himself asking.

"She was." Will's smile was sad, drenched in bittersweet memories. "She would have been pretty disappointed in how I turned out. She didn't have it in her to tell a lie or do anything that might hurt someone else."

Jay stepped up beside Will and gently placed an arm around his shoulders, mindful of Will's injuries. "If your mom could see what kind of person you really are, Will, she wouldn't be disappointed in you," he said firmly. "You've made some mistakes, but you're a better man than you give yourself credit for."

"You don't know me that well, Jay, or you wouldn't say that. I've done things…" Will's voice trailed off.

Tyler could only imagine, working for a man like Jack Freed, what Will had been asked to do. Stepping around in front of his friends, he declared, "Let's make a pact, right here, right now, to let the past be the past. Everything that's happened with us – the lies Will's told us, the fights we've had since the Drexler bombing, the awful things each of us has done up to this point in our lives – let's just leave those here. Let's pick up and go on without all of that between us."

His friends hesitated. Tyler knew, in some ways, he was making a silly, corny request: The past would never really leave them; they would carry their histories with them, in the scars, visible and invisible, they each bore. But he could sense the need for them all to make a clean start, especially where their friendship was concerned.

After a long moment, Jay nodded. "It's a deal. I'm in." He turned to Will. "How about you, Will?"

"Why not?" Will offered them a lop-sided grin smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Now let's go take our lives back."

**Part 3**

Before he could return to Washington, D.C., for what would hopefully be the end of his mission to secure his friends' safety and freedom, Will had some unfinished business to tend to: Maya.

He offered to send Jay and Tyler back with the evidence and to make his way up to Maine alone, but his friends would not hear of it. "We've come this far together," Jay had insisted, toweling off from a shower in the motel just outside of Red Bud where they had spent the night. "We're going to see it through together."

And so Will had called Kate to tell her they were making a detour but would be back soon. "You sound tired," she had told him, concern evident in her voice. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

Will couldn't deny that it was rather nice to be looked after, although he usually preferred his independence. "I'm fine," he had assured her, which was mostly true. He was tired, he was sore, he was weary, but he could tell his body was healing. "I have to do this, Kate."

"Then do it," she had said simply, "and come back."

_To me, _she had not added, but Will had wondered if she wanted to.

The drive to Maine was somewhat more subdued than their journey to Illinois had been. Will knew his friends were worrying about what would happen when they turned their evidence over to the Branch; Will was, too. He also knew Jay was missing Kim and worrying about her and their babies, and that Tyler was anxious to see his brother in person and trying to sort out how he felt about Liz. Their time on the run was beginning to wear on all of them, no matter what they said about leaving the past behind to make a new start.

_The thing about the past is, it catches up to you sooner or later. And there are parts of my past I don't want to leave behind – like Maya._

Again, they drove straight through, Tyler and Jay switching off drivers every few hours and taking turns sleeping in the passenger's seat. They stopped in a small Pennsylvania town to eat, stretch their legs, and buy the supplies they would need for when they reached their destination, but other than that, they kept moving.

They drove into the wooded hills of Maine as night fell once more. Jay was behind the wheel, Tyler snoring softly beside him. Jay met Will's eyes in the rearview mirror and asked, "How are you holding up?"

"You sound like Kate," Will retorted, not really bothered by the question. He was pleased his roommates still cared so much about his well-being. "I'm fine. Really."

"She cares about you a lot, you know."

Will sincerely did not want to have this conversation. Knowing Jay was only trying to be a friend, he tried not to be too harsh as he said, "I'd rather not discuss it, if that's okay."

"No, it's not okay." Jay's voice had taken on that tenacious tone Will associated with his friend arguing sticky points of law around the kitchen table with classmates. He knew he was in for it, regardless of what he said, so he laid his head back on the seat, shut his eyes, and waited for Jay to continue.

"Look, Will, I know you love Maya. I could tell by talking to her that you two were crazy over one another – I mean, you were willing to risk everything to be together. And you know I had my doubts about Kate for quite a while. But I think she's more than proven herself our friend, and I also see, just like I saw with Maya, that she honestly, deeply cares for you. I'm not trying to horn in where it's none of my business – " _Little late for that, _Will reflected dryly " – but I just don't want to see you or her get hurt."

"Neither do I," Will answered evenly. "In case you hadn't noticed, Jay, we're on our way to Maya's grave. Don't you think it's a lot safer for Kate to get as far away from me as she possibly can?"

Jay refused to be easily swayed – another trait that would make him a good lawyer, Will supposed. "If we're successful in forcing the Branch to deal with us, your situation won't be like what it was when you were with Maya."

Will wanted to say, as he had once before to his friend, _I know you are not that naïve. _He might have, except he didn't want Jay and Tyler worrying about what was going to happen to their former roommate once they handed their evidence over to the Branch.

_It doesn't work like that for me, _he had told them before Freed's limo exploded. And it still didn't. Even if everything went perfectly, even if their plan came off without a hitch, Will had no picture-perfect life to step back into. He had no identity, his life as Liam O'Connor having been erased the moment he joined Hometown. Not that he would have wanted that life back.

What was more, though, Will knew far more about the Branch and Freed and the other dangerous people in their lives than his friends did. So much more that it would be highly unlikely that Kensington would allow Will Traveler to simply walk away.

In all likelihood, the Branch would kill him. That was why he needed to finish the task they were on their way to do now, because he might not have another chance.

Keeping those thoughts to himself, Will rejoined, "It's not just about Kate's safety, Jay."

"Then what is it about?" Jay pressed, sounding frustrated. "Because you know what I think it's about, Will? I think it's about you punishing yourself. I think you honestly believe that you are not someone who deserves to be happy or loved. I think with Maya you let yourself believe that you could become that kind of person, but after you lost her, you decided just to close off and never let anyone get close again."

"Are you a lawyer or a psychologist, Jay?" Will tried to use humor to deflect how affecting his friend's words were. "I feel like I should be lying on a couch or something."

Undaunted, Jay persisted, "Don't be flip, Will. I'm serious. If Kate's in love with you – "

"Kate is not in love with me. Kate doesn't know me well enough to be in love with me." Will allowed some of his irritation to creep into his voice. He was tired of this conversation, tired of having it with himself time and again over the past month as well as with Jay right then.

"And what if you're wrong? What if we all know you better than you think we do, and we don't see this monster that you see in yourself? What if she really does love you?"

"Yeah, well, I don't love her."

Will was surprised by how vehemently the words came out. He was reminded of one of Maya's favorite lines from Shakespeare: _Me thinks she doth protest too much. _Less forcefully, he went on, "I'm not in love with Kate, Jay. I feel…something for her, I guess that's obvious. But I'm not in love with her."

The words felt true to Will, and they brought a surprising peace to him. He had not fallen in love again. He had a strong suspicion that he could, if he were to allow himself time to heal from Maya's death and time to get to know Kate and time for her to get to know him, but those things had not happened yet. He cared about her, he wanted her to be safe, he occasionally imagined kissing her, he hoped she would be happy – and he was not in love with her.

From the passenger's seat, Tyler piped up groggily, "If you guys have settled your little lover's quarrel, can you stop yelling? I'm trying to sleep."

"We had to yell over your snores," Jay shot back. But he let the subject of Kate drop, for which Will was grateful.

Night had fallen in earnest by the time Jay turned down the rutted path leading back through the nature preserve to Maya's grave. Tyler woke up as the Escalade bounced over rough patches in the road. "Where are we?" he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"We're here. You can stop." Will was staring down the hillside at the huge sycamore underneath which Maya was buried. Without looking at either of his friends, he admitted, "I'm going to need your help with this. And it's going to be a little…unpleasant."

Jay and Tyler didn't flinch. "Let's do it," Tyler said, hopping out of the car, followed by Jay.

They carried their shovels down the hillside and began once more to dig where Will directed them. So much had happened since he had first stood in this place with the sunset blazing over him, recalling the first time he and Maya had made love. He had made a promise to her that night, standing in this very spot – a promise that he would come back for her. He had not forgotten that promise, not for one single day.

Almost seven weeks in the summer-warm earth had wrought a significant change in the state of Maya's body, Will realized the moment Jay stopped shoveling because he had bumped against something too solid to be dirt. The sickly-sweet smell that had nearly gagged Will was gone; a strong organic odor rose from the earth, but it was not the stench of decay.

Still, Will did not want his friends to see Maya's corpse. Or, more to the point, he did not want Maya to suffer the indignity of having her remains seen or handled by anyone but him.

"I'll do it," he told his friends, stepping down into the grave as they – reluctantly – stepped out. Will knew they were concerned about him over-exerting himself, but he insisted, "I'm strong enough for this, don't worry. She wasn't a very big person, you know."

His throat constricted over the words. Maya, soft and slender little Maya…How he missed her, how he ached for her.

"We'll, uh, we'll go get things ready, then, if you're sure," Tyler offered hesitantly.

Will nodded. He waited until his friends were halfway back to the car to proceed.

Nature had done her work well and swiftly, thanks, Will supposed, to the scavengers that would have had easy access to the body through the slit he had made in the plastic on his previous visit. Maya was mostly bones now, he could tell as he gently lifted the body-bag out of the grave, ignoring the pain that shot through his ribs. Although he would still have refused to be sickened by the state of her body, he had to admit that it was less traumatizing to handle her skeleton rather than a putrefying corpse.

Will cradled Maya's remains in his arms with exquisite tenderness, as if the form he carried still retained some consciousness of his touch. At the top of the hill he saw that Jay and Tyler were several yards away from the car, following the directions he had given them. He walked slowly along behind them, remembering…

He had asked Maya to run away with him on an unseasonably warm March afternoon. They had driven down the coast to a small town with a quaint bed and breakfast Will had discovered online; he had booked them as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan Klein, and Maya had been delighted by the surprise. Will had known it was a risk, but he had wanted to do something special for her, something to show her how much he cared.

That afternoon, they had rented a small sailboat and taken it out on the town's man-made lake. Drifting along in no particular direction, practically the only people out on the water that sunny day, they had move love slowly, languorously, savoring every touch, every kiss. Being apart from Maya was torture for Will: He tried to drink in as much of her as possible in their stolen moments.

Afterwards, holding her in his arms, Will had asked with a hammering heart the question that had been on his mind for weeks: "If I had to leave, would you want to come with me?"

Naked beneath the blanket they had pulled over themselves, Maya wound one slender leg around his. "Why would you have to leave?"

"Because I'm tired of being a spy." Will lifted a strand of her golden hair and twirled it in his fingers, pressed it to his lips and kissed it. "I'm tired of sneaking around to be with you. I'm tired of pretending to be someone I'm not. I'm tired of lying to Jay and Tyler. I want out, Maya."

He hadn't put his feelings so strongly even to himself, but he knew he spoke the truth. Will wanted as far away from Hometown and Joseph Langdon and Jack Freed as he could get. He supposed he must have felt that way for some time, or he wouldn't have started hoarding evidence against them in a research locker at Boston Hall, at great personal risk to himself.

Maya propped herself up on one elbow and looked hard into Will's face. "I love you," she declared, words that never ceased to thrill him, no matter how many times he watched them fall from her lips. "I want to be wherever you are. So if you're going, I'm coming with you…"

They had celebrated that night with dinner at a fancy little French restaurant on the dock. Maya, Will remembered as he approached the place where his friends waited, had been delighted when he'd presented her with a single red rose, bought on impulse as they had walked down the boardwalk on their way to dinner. He remembered her holding the rose out for him to smell, telling him it was the sweetest gift she'd ever been given.

He couldn't have known they were being filmed by the Branch as they sat there. He would never have known, if Kate hadn't played the surveillance video in that fake hotel room on the day he learned of Maya's death. Their plans for a life together, it seemed, had been doomed from the start.

Jay and Tyler stepped aside as Will reached them. They were standing at the edge of a small pond. On the bank they had deposited a long wooden pallet, purchased at a lumberyard on their way through Pennsylvania earlier that day. Will gently lay Maya's remains down on it.

He knelt beside her and slipped his fingers inside the black plastic in which she was still wrapped. He found her hand easily, the bones cool and dry in his grip, so different from the warm, living flesh he had loved to caress.

"You're the one that I love, Maya," he said aloud to her. Tears stung his eyes, but Will knew he would not fall apart as he had before. He was stronger now, with the end of his journey so near. "I'm sorry I can't do better for you, I'd build you the Taj Mahal if I could. But I know how much you loved the water. I think you would be okay with this."

Bending over, he pushed the plastic aside to reveal a section of white bone at her temple, A few strands of blonde hair still clung to her skull; Will brushed them away and kissed the spot gently, lovingly. Neither Jay nor Tyler gasped, as Kate had. He knew they understood, because had it been the woman they loved lying on that make-shift raft, they would have done the same.

Will let Jay take care of the rest: He lit a match and held it to the edge of the plastic, which caught fire immediately, before pushing the pallet out onto the pond with his foot.

The flames spread quickly over Maya's body as her funeral pyre drifted into the center of the still, dark water. Tears blurred Will's vision, acting like prisms as he stared at the brilliant orange glow of the flames reflected on the surface of the water. On either side of him, Jay and Tyler stood silently. Tyler draped his arm around Will's shoulders, holding him close in a brotherly embrace; Jay pressed a strengthening hand to the small of Will's back as if to keep him upright.

They watched until the fire burned itself out, the ashes drifting across the water, and Maya was gone.

**Part 4**

Dressed in a gray pin-striped suit over a plum-colored button-down, pearls dangling from her earlobes, fingernails freshly manicured and long golden tresses piled into a chic knot at the nape of her neck, Kate felt ready to face the enemy. Normally, she preferred jeans, tee-shirts and baseball caps; as her choice of profession suggested, she was not the "fixy" type, always likely to choose a good football game over the opera, a pair of broken-in running shoes over leather pumps. Yet from the time she was a little girl, Kate had enjoyed playing dress-up. Whenever she had slipped on her mother's faux fur stole and painted red lipstick on her mouth, she had felt glamorous, powerful, invincible.

She still felt that way, even as an adult. It was a costume she donned whenever she needed to get the upper hand in a situation where words, not guns, would determine the outcome. Situations like the one she was walking into with Kensington the day after Will, Jay and Tyler left for Red Bud.

Kate had thought she wouldn't sleep at all with Will gone, that she would lie awake racked with worry for his well-being. Perhaps she had simply been too exhausted to keep her eyes open, or perhaps she trusted Jay and Tyler to look after Will more than she had expected to, but the moment their Escalade disappeared down the drive, she had fallen asleep. She had slept for thirteen hours straight and awoke feeling like a new person.

Now, knowing that the boys had the evidence and that they would be back soon, Kensington was taking Kate to meet with those members of the Branch whom, he claimed, wanted to ensure that nothing like the Drexler bombing or the Morbus plot were ever orchestrated by their organization again.

In the back of Kensington's limo, Kate considered again how much of the good-Branch-versus-bad-Branch-members story she bought. She had talked at length with Marlow on this subject; having attended much of Tyrese Franklin's interrogation, Marlow was armed with a good deal more information about the Branch's inner workings than Kate had. After hearing what Franklin was finally forced to say, Marlow declared that in her opinion, which Kate highly valued, Kensington and Fog were telling the truth: The Branch was divided between the richest and most powerful who saw the organization as a way to control education, the economy, healthcare, civil liberties, and so on by instilling fear in the hearts of the American public, and those less-powerful (though, to most people, still very wealthy and very influential) members who viewed the Branch as a tool for keeping the other three branches of government in line with the will of the people.

Of course, Marlow had admitted, the lines were not clearly drawn. Not every high-ranking member was like Maxwell Abrams, and some lower-ranking members, like Franklin and Chambers, had sworn service to men like Oliver Drummond and Jack Freed. Yet on the whole, Marlow tended to believe that Kensington and the people Kate would be meeting honestly wanted the chaos to stop.

_But they also don't want to go to prison or have their pretty little reputations sullied, so we're still in a delicate position here – they could decide it would be just as easy to kill all of us as to cut a deal with us…_

"We're here," Kensington announced, jarring Kate from her thoughts. "I can tell you're worried, Kaitlyn. Please don't be. You're under my protection, and let me assure you, that will count for a great deal in this meeting."

Kate nodded. In any case, the time for backing out had come and gone – she would either succeed or die trying.

"Here" was the summer home of Virginia Senator Ingrid Dawson, a tough-as-nails Democrat from a well-connected Southern family. A uniformed black maid with salt-and-pepper hair greeted Kate and Kensington in the foyer and directed them into an enormous sun-filled library, where twenty-five of the wealthiest, most powerful people in the United States were seated on leather chairs and sofas sipping sweet iced tea.

_Into the lion's den…_

Kate carried herself with the effortless confidence of someone who knows she holds the winning hand. It was a trick she had learned in Vegas, where bluffing was the ultimate card. Sashaying across the room as if she hadn't a care in the world, she followed Kensington to where Senator Dawson sat near the cold fireplace.

"Ingrid," Kensington greeted the petite middle-aged senator in his rich baritone. Dawson lifted her cheek for an air-kiss. "Good to see you. Looking well, as always."

Kate thought Dawson looked like she had swallowed something unpleasant, although she supposed that was because the senator was forced to greet her cordially when she probably wanted to have her taken out behind the woodshed and shot. "You must be Agent Westbrook," Dawson said coolly, shaking hands. Her grip was surprisingly firm for such a dainty woman.

Too quietly for the others to hear, she added, "I hope you know what you're doing, my dear. There are a lot of egos in this room that won't take well to being trifled with."

Kate wasn't sure if she had just been advised or threatened, so she let the senator's words pass without comment.

Kensington stood in front of the massive stone hearth and smiled around at the assembled group, who seemed to accept that he was running the meeting. "Good morning, everyone," he rumbled, his deep voice easily reaching the corners of the large room. "We all have busy lives to get back to, so I won't waste your time with pleasantries. We're here today because we have all agreed that those members of our organization who would be willing to blow up an American landmark, to risk countless innocent lives in the hopes of destroying a single painting, and who would dare to bring methods of bioterrorism to our own shores must be stopped, immediately and permanently."

He gestured to Kate, who stood beside him with graceful poise, meeting every member's eyes who glanced her way. She wanted these people to understand that, while Kensington held the floor for the moment, _she _was in charge.

"This, ladies and gentleman, is one of the most gifted operatives the CIA has ever had the honor of employing. Her name is Kaitlyn Westbrook. For ten years, as most of you know, Agent Westbrook was assigned to a deep-cover mission in which she procured very valuable information about Jack Freed's schemes, including Project Hometown, which has played such an important role in recent events. Agent Westbrook has spent the last several weeks with Jay Burchell and Tyler Fog, the young men Freed tried to murder and intended to frame for the bombing of the Drexler, and Will Traveler, a Hometown agent who, as we now know, turned against Freed rather than carry out his deplorable directive.

"Now, I hope you will all listen carefully to what Agent Westbrook has to say, because I believe she can offer us a way out of the mess Jack Freed created for all of us," Kensington concluded. With that, he stepped aside.

Kate faced the stony faces around her unflinchingly. "I don't expect any of you to be happy to be here," she began, her voice strong and even. She could see her demeanor having the desired effect on these powerful people: They respected confidence and composure, as well as brutal honesty. "And I don't expect you to like some of what I have to say. So before I begin, I want to make clear what my objectives are.

"The first thing you should know is that neither I, nor Will Traveler, nor Jay Burchell or Tyler Fog, have any interest in exposing the Fourth Branch's existence, or the identities of anyone in this room," she went on. She saw several people, including Governor Preston Howard of New York, visibly relax at that.

"So that's what we don't want. Here's what we do want."

Collectively, the members leaned forward in their seats. Kate knew they were anticipating the worst.

"We want our lives back. Jay Burchell and Tyler Fog want to be publicly and officially cleared of all involvement with the Drexler bombing and this so-called 'People's Militia.' Kim Doherty and Elizabeth Schultz want their names cleared of all suspicion as well. All of us, including Will Traveler, want signed pardon agreements giving us full immunity for illegal actions that we have been forced to take over the last several weeks in order to protect ourselves. And," she finished, staring into as many pairs of eyes as she could quickly take in, "we want your assurances that we will not be targeted by the Fourth Branch, that we will be allowed to return to our lives without being followed, or watched, or tracked in any way."

Ronald Darby, co-owner of the largest nuclear energy company in the country and Oliver Drummond's latest security detail, spoke up from the back of the room. "And what is it you and your associates are prepared to offer in return for these agreements, Agent Westbrook?"

"For one thing," Kate replied, "we're prepared to hand over a tremendous amount of evidence detailing acts of treason, murder, espionage and theft committed by members of your organization. For another," she added, seeing walls slam shut in some of the faces around her, "we're prepared to help you stop those members who, as Director Kensington said, have chosen to operate like terrorists instead of patriots."

She saw defenses crumble again and knew she was getting somewhere.

Patiently, for the next hour Kate walked the assembled Branch members through the evidence she, Will, Jay, Tyler, Kim and Liz had gathered. They had already been briefed on Otis Whaley's testimony and Franklin's confessions during interrogation; combined with what Kate revealed, she knew every person in the room was aware that he or she could easily wind up in federal prison if the evidence ever came to light. She worked to allay their fears of that happening – if all they had were threats, Kate had convinced Will, they would be begging the Branch to kill them – by also detailing how that evidence could be doctored, edited and spun to implicate only those members whom they wanted put away. People like Fred Chambers, Maxwell Abrams, and Oliver Drummond, for instance.

When she finished, it was Senator Dawson who spoke first. "I think that was all very well put, Agent Westbrook," Dawson observed, in her cool, even tones. Kate could see that this woman's opinion carried a lot of weight with her compatriots, and she held her breath to see if Dawson would prove to be her savior or her downfall. "From everything Andrew has told me about you, I'm confident that you can be trusted to keep your word on this."

Turning to address the room at large, Dawson declared, "Jack Freed, no doubt at the behest of Max Abrams, has put us all in a good deal of jeopardy. Not only did he plot to assassinate the president of our country, and a dear friend to most of us – he also planned to frame two innocent young men, one of them the son of a decorated war hero and the other the son of one of our own members, for that terrible crime. The bombing of the Drexler Museum was inexcusable. The framing of Jay Burchell and Tyler Fog has been despicable. And if Abrams had succeeded in releasing a biological weapon in this country…Well, I'm at a loss for words to describe what _that _would have been."

Heads were nodding all around the room. With all the skill of a seasoned rhetorician, Dawson came to her point.

"My friends, we have all committed our lives to a single cause: protecting this beautiful country we are so lucky to live in. We have all made moral compromises in the interest of serving that cause. But we have to ask ourselves when 'moral compromise' becomes nothing more than 'immorality.' And I say that to destroy the lives of four innocent young people and two United States government agents only to conceal the disgraceful actions of some of our members would, quite simply, cross that line."

As Dawson sat down, Kate knew that she had carried the day. It certainly took time to hash out the details; a full catering staff carted in a delicious gourmet supper to them, and coffee and strawberry shortcake followed as the evening hours wore away. But finally, the plan was decided, and Kate's terms had been accepted.

Weak with relief, Kate was anxious to get back to Kensington's mansion, where she could phone Kim and Liz in New York with the good news and await the boys' return. She was obligated to shake hands with each member, of course; these people were far too refined not to observe the pleasantries. At last, though, only she, Kensington, and Dawson were left in the room.

"Excellent work, my dear," Dawson told her, clasping her hand again firmly.

"Thank you, Senator." Kate offered the older woman a heart-felt smile of gratitude. "If I was a resident of Virginia, you would definitely have my vote."

Dawson laughed. "Well, I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of each other in the future, if you continue working for Andrew." She shared a meaningful look with Kensington before excusing herself to see her guests off.

Puzzled, Kate turned to Kensington. "What did she mean by that?"

"She meant, Kaitlyn, that it would be a shame to lose you," Kensington answered simply, seating himself on the large mahogany desk near the fireplace. Kate sank into a chair across from him, exhausted from the long, trying day. "If you want to leave the CIA, I won't stop you. But I've said it before, and I'll say it again: You're an excellent operative, and I would like for you to continue working for me."

Kate couldn't deny that she had half-hoped for such an offer. Nevertheless, she was hesitant. "By 'you,' you really mean the Branch."

"You've worked for the Branch for ten years, Kaitlyn. Do you still believe that we're all evil, like Freed and Abrams? Do you truly not see the value of what we do?"

Rather grudgingly, Kate admitted to herself that she didn't view Kensington or many of the other people she had met today through the same lens as Jack Freed or Maxwell Abrams. And, if their goals were really as lofty as they claimed, she could even acknowledge that an organization like the Fourth Branch might do a lot of good for the country, working behind the scenes to "make the hard decisions," as Kensington liked to say.

_Sometimes governments need people watching them, too. And sometimes secret, shadowy societies need people on the inside who know what they're capable of to keep them honest – I could definitely fulfill that role…_

"Before you make your decision, there's one other thing you should know." Kensington looked grave, and Kate felt a familiar clenching in her stomach – a "what now" kind of feeling.

"The other members and I have no qualms about allowing Burchell, Fog, and their girlfriends to completely walk away from this situation. And, with me to vouch for you, the others have agreed that you would not be a liability. But Traveler…Traveler is a different story, Kaitlyn."

The blood in Kate's veins turned to ice. Sitting rigidly in her chair, she demanded coldly, "What are you saying, Andrew? That you've all decided to have Will killed?"

"No. What I'm saying is, Will Traveler knows too much, and his loyalties are too uncertain, for us to simply turn him loose."

Kensington held out an official-looking document to her, one that he had obviously prepared prior to their meeting. "That is the only agreement we will sign for Traveler. He either agrees to join the CIA, to work for me and me alone, or he will be tried as a traitor and a terrorist. I don't have to tell you, Kaitlyn," he added soberly, "that it would be very unlikely for someone with his knowledge to be permitted to stand trial. Even I couldn't protect him from all of the people who would want him silenced. And if by some miracle he did survive, he would almost certainly be convicted and executed."

Kate felt numb. She knew she should have expected this; she had always known she and Will were both in too deep to simply walk away. She hadn't worried too much for herself because, in her heart, she knew she didn't _want _to leave the Agency. Will, on the other hand, had been desperate to escape his double life for months, maybe even years. Would he choose death over being forced to remain a spy?

As she stood in Dawson's gorgeous library trying to regain her mental footing, Kate couldn't help but think back to the last conversation she had ever had with Joseph Langdon, the man who had been Will's primary contact during the New Haven operation…

Joseph had invited her to his home not long after giving Will his final directive. Kate had a bad feeling she knew what was coming. Sure enough, the instant Joseph's wife had headed out to take their teenage sons to soccer practice, Joseph had turned to her and announced, "He can't do it, Kate. He can't kill his roommates."

"I'm aware of Traveler's situation." Kate spoke calmly, yet guardedly. She knew Joseph and Freed were close; she couldn't afford to so much as hint at her feelings for Will in front of him. "It's being taken care of."

Sitting down on his sofa and waving her into an armchair, Joseph sighed. "You're going to kill him, aren't you?" Before Kate could respond, he continued sadly, "I knew it. I guess I always knew Freed didn't really intend to let the kid walk away from this – I mean, he just knows way too much, even though he doesn't _know _that he knows it. I'd sort of hoped that Freed wouldn't want to sacrifice such a good agent, but I suppose that doesn't mean much in the grand scheme of things."

Kate tried to determine if Joseph, who had always struck her as an unusually kind man with an astonishingly vicious streak, was playing her. To protect herself, she hid behind her well-cultivated cold-as-ice, tough-as-nails persona, the one most of her colleagues in Freed's small circle knew her by.

"If Traveler can't do his job, Joseph, then he isn't very much use to us, is he?"

"You think I'm being sentimental."

"No, but I do think it's dangerous to lose your objectivity in these situations."

"Don't go ratting me out as a turn-coat, Kate. I'm not suggesting we let the kid live if Freed's orders are to kill him," Joseph shot back impatiently. He stared down at his hands, as if wishing he hadn't gotten himself into this conversation.

"I'm just saying, it's not fair, what we're asking Traveler to give. What we've asked all of these kids in Hometown to give. People like you and me, Kate, we know the score – we knew the score when we signed on. For Christ's sake, I married the woman the Branch told me to marry. And I still don't like her, not twenty years later, but they haven't told me to divorce her yet, so here I am."

Rather surprised by how much Joseph had just revealed to her, Kate began to suspect that he wasn't trying to trick her into admitting that she cared about Will. Carefully, she ventured, "Maybe you're so affected by this because you have sons. I'll admit, Will has created a very likable persona for this operation. It would be easy to be drawn in by that. But when it comes to the end of the day, Joseph, he _did_ sign on for this. He asked for the mission, even."

"But he doesn't have any idea what he's really into, does he? He never made a choice to give up his life for the Fourth Branch. He just got suckered in." Joseph looked away sadly, out the window his beautiful home, where Kate suddenly suspected he felt trapped everyday. "He committed to this life without the slightest clue about what he would really be doing. And now, he'll never get out…"

_He'll never get out – alive. So you have to convince him to stay._

In an instant, Kate's mind was made up. She held onto Will's pardon agreement when Kensington extended his hand to take it back. "Let me talk to him," she pleaded, looking imploringly into Kensington's eyes. "Let me see if I can get him to agree to it. He trusts me."

Kensington hesitated. "Does that mean you're staying with us, Kaitlyn?"

_Talk about your deals with the devil…_

"Yes, Andrew, I'll stay," Kate answered, telling herself that she was making the right choice – the only choice. "And if you let me do this my way, I think you'll get Will in the bargain, too."


	12. Chapter 12

**Episode 12:**

"**Redemption"**

**Part 1**

Standing in a luxurious suite inside New York City's Four Seasons Hotel, Kate couldn't believe that in ten minutes' time, the journey that had begun when the Drexler Museum went up in flames would be finished. More to the point, she couldn't believe that she, Will, Jay, Tyler, Kim and Liz had won. When she had joined their cause, at most she had hoped to survive.

Kensington stepped into the living room where Kate was staring at a muted large-screen television. Impeccable as always, he looked particularly imposing in his Armani suit that morning. Kate suspected the promise of defeating his enemies lent Kensington an extra air of authority.

"I have to go down," he informed her. "You'll be all right up here by yourself? I'm leaving a guard at the door, just in case."

"I'll be fine, Andrew. I'll have a bird's-eye view of the whole thing," Kate answered, pointing to the television, where an anchorman was reporting live from a ballroom inside their hotel.

Kensington started for the door. On impulse, Kate called after him, "Tell Jay and Tyler I said good luck, and not to be nervous."

"I will," Kensington promised. "Don't worry, Kaitlyn. I'll look out for them."

Alone again, Kate forced her restless body to be seated on the plush sofa. She desperately wanted to be downstairs amidst the action, but if one of the Branch members who weren't privy to their scheme spotted her, it might jeopardize their meticulous plans. Unwilling to risk it, Kate had volunteered to watch from the hotel suite, while Will, Jay and Tyler took the last few steps of their journey without her.

_It's only fitting that it should end like it began, with just the three of them…_

To distract herself from worrying over what might go wrong with their plans, as well as from obsessing over the difficult conversation she would soon need to have with Will concerning his pardon agreement, Kate let her mind drift back to the events of the night before…

Kensington had driven her, Will, Jay and Tyler under heavy guard from his palatial Virginia estate to the White House mere hours after the boys returned with the evidence. Swarmed by NSA, CIA and Secret Service agents, their group had secretly entered the West Wing through an entrance Kate was quite certain would not be found on a visitor's map.

Their top-secret meeting with President Shears had taken place in the Oval Office. Kate could see that the others were as awed by their surroundings as she was, although she and Will had too much training to openly gawk like Jay and Tyler.

In the outer office, they waited to be summoned into the president's inner sanctum. Tyler whispered nervously, "Do you think he's watched that manifesto thing? Some of the stuff I said about him was pretty harsh."

"You're about to offer him the people who wanted him assassinated on a silver platter," Jay whispered back encouragingly. "Something tells me he'll let bygones be bygones."

Just then, the door opened and a Secret Service agent ushered them all inside.

President Shears sat in a straight-backed chair in the center of the room, looking tired and anxious. On chairs and sofas around him sat Senator Ingrid Dawson, Ronald Darby, New York Governor Preston Howard, NSA Director Anita Walczak, and – looking as overwhelmed as Kate felt – Harold Stone and Jan Marlow.

Kate caught Marlow's eye and winked, as if to say, _Can you believe we're here?_

"Please, please, sit down." Shears rose at their entrance and motioned the four of them onto an empty sofa. Surprisingly cordial, he came over to shake first Kensington's hand, then Kate's, then each of the boys', ending with Will.

Kate saw the shock on the president's face as he took in Will's injuries: His face was still covered in bruises, his right eye still severely bloodshot, his wrists and arm still swathed in bandages, his stitches still visible through his sandy hair. She heard the president say quietly, "I appreciate that you've agreed to meet with us, Mr. Traveler. I understand you have very little reason to trust us."

Normally prepped with a witty comeback for everything, Will answered with the utmost respect, "Not at all, Mr. President. It's my pleasure."

Sinking back into his chair, Shears set the tone for the meeting. "I want to make one thing clear from the start," he declared. "Whatever we decide here tonight, we will decide it because it is right for the country. Every awful thing that has happened these last few weeks has happened because members of our organization ­– " by that, Kate knew he meant the Branch " – have put their own interests before the interests of the people. That pattern ends here, tonight."

Kate was more impressed by the president than she had expected to be: He came across as rather dim-witted and bumbling in press conferences and interviews. Not to mention that she disagreed with most of his policy decisions. Yet as the meeting progressed, she found him to be both kind and reasonable.

The first order of business was handing over their evidence. Will, Jay and Tyler had agreed to do this before their pardon agreements were signed as the ultimate gesture of good faith – the idea being that, if they were willing to trust the Branch with their lives, then the Branch could trust them to keep their word about protecting the organization from exposure after they were exonerated. Kate knew it had not been an easy decision for any of them, but they had made it and were sticking to it.

Will sorted through the stacks of photographs and bank records, the transcripts of phone calls and recorded clandestine meetings, which had been carried up from Kensington's car in two large cardboard boxes. As he presented each piece, he also described how he, Kate and Kensington intended to use certain photographs, accounts and recordings to put Abrams, Chambers and their ilk behind bars for the Drexler bombing and the Morbus plot without implicating other members.

A tense silence fell over the room when Will gingerly lifted a slim black case bearing the Belenus Pharmaceuticals logo from the last box.

"Is that…?" Darby asked, swallowing audibly.

"Morbus," Will confirmed. He held the case out to Kensington, who took it with great care between slightly trembling fingers. "The only surviving sample that we know of."

"What will you do with it?" Jay spoke up, as Kensington carefully placed the case inside an evidence bag and sealed it.

"Send it to the FBI's forensics lab at Quantico," Kensington replied. "We'll need it to put the Buchanans and Abrams on death row."

With the evidence in the Branch's hands, the ball was now in the president's court. The next order of business was to decide how best to spring their trap for the Branch members they wanted imprisoned.

Dawson took the floor. Kate could tell the clever senator had given this aspect of their dilemma some serious thought.

"As the president said, where we go from here needs to be guided by what's best for the country," she reasoned. "And the country, unfortunately, has been fed one lie after another ever since the Drexler bombing. Some of those lies have even been of our doing," she admitted, looking around at her compatriots.

"Now, I know we aren't intending to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth regarding these two terrorist plots," Dawson went on. "But I still believe the time has come to set the record straight – and publicly. In any case, the high-profile arrests we're planning will create a scandal we can't hope to keep quiet.

"Mr. President," she turned to Shears, who was listening raptly, "I think you need to announce to the American people what arrests are being made, and why. I think you need to publicly declare the innocence of these two young men," she nodded at Jay and Tyler, "and their friends. And you need to publicly condemn those who are actually responsible."

"Now, wait a minute, Ingrid," protested Kensington, whom Kate knew preferred to operate behind the scenes. "I realize this will be a very public affair before the end, but I think it would be best to make the arrests we intend to make quietly, and to announce afterwards what we have, uh, learned, I guess we should say."

Instead of arguing, Dawson turned to the president. "It's your call, sir."

Shears stroked his chin, staring silently at the floor for a full minute. Then he abruptly raised his head, as if coming to a sudden decision, and looked directly at Will. "What do you think we should do?"

Visibly (and understandably) stunned at being consulted by the president, Will recovered admirably. "I think the more noise you make, the better," he tabled simply, his even gaze taking in each of the Branch members in turn. "Usually I'd be inclined to agree with Director Kensington's approach – get in, get out, without anybody knowing you've been there – but the people you're planning to take down have eyes and ears everywhere. If you try to sneak up on them, they'll see you coming from a mile away. But if you put your cards out there for everyone to see, they're going to be trapped before they know what hit them."

Nodding slowly, the president turned toward Jay and Tyler. Jay blushed; Tyler paled.

"Mr. Burchell, Mr. Fog, what's your take on this? I think you've earned a say in the matter."

Jay answered first, his voice low and serious. "I've learned to trust Will Traveler, Mr. President. If he says you should attack these people in the open, then I agree."

"I think it's the right move, too," Tyler put in shakily. "I mean, my dad always said you win a lot faster if you catch your opponent off-guard. And the last thing people like Maxwell Abrams are going to expect is for you to come after them in public, right?"

Dawson beamed her approval at the three of them. Kate caught Marlow's eye and then Stone's; she could see by their expressions that they, too, agreed with Will.

"So how do we go about this public accusation?" Shears inquired of the room at large.

Governor Howard suggested, "Call a press conference. Tell the media you want to address the nation in light of all the recent unsettling events – the Drexler, Freed's death, the People's Militia, the Miami incident."

Darby put in, "I'll tell Abrams you're worried about your approval ratings and tired of seeing Preston here and that Chambers idiot on TV all the time. That should quiet any of his suspicions."

Graciously accepting that his view had been defeated, Kensington advised, "Whatever we do, we need to move on this now, Mr. President. As Traveler pointed out, keeping secrets from our enemies isn't easy. If we wait even a day, we may lose the element of surprise."

"I'll have the Press Secretary contact the major media outlets tonight and schedule the conference for nine in the morning, in the Rose Garden," Shears declared.

"Do it in New York."

Tyler's outburst stilled the flurry of activity that had erupted in the room as they all rose, ready to prepare for their assault on the Branch. Coloring a little as all eyes went to him, Tyler hurried on, "I mean, New York is where it all started, isn't it? For the three of us, anyway. And for the rest of the country. I just think," he finished, glancing nervously at Kate, who nodded encouragingly, "that it would mean a lot to the people of New York if you were to set the record straight from there."

"There's no success like New York success," Will murmured, earning curious looks from around the room. Meeting Tyler's gaze, he explained, "It was something Carlton Fog used to say. And I never knew it not to be true for him."

Shears, his mind made up, pronounced, "New York, then. Nine o'clock. And I'll need you two on hand," he told Jay and Tyler, "to present you with your pardons and publicly clear your names…"

Kate came back to the present with a triumphant smile on her face. On the television, the news conference was about to begin. She knew Marlow and Stone were somewhere in the ballroom, poised with several dozen other plainclothes FBI and NSA agents to arrest those Branch members in attendance who had no idea what was coming: Vivian and Ted Buchanan, who thought they were safe so long as they complied with Kensington about the lab explosion cover story; Maxwell Abrams, who had flown in for the day as if his presence could keep Shears in line; Ollie Drummond, who was never too far away from Darby (also in attendance); Chambers who, with the threat of Otis Whaley's testimony no longer hovering over his head, no doubt expected a compliment from the president for a job well done.

Across the country, a dozen other high-profile individuals – governors, senators, CEOs, lawyers, judges – would be taken into custody at the same time, thanks to Kensington's careful coordination with the FBI and NSA.

Kate knew, too, that inside Carlton Fog's Manhattan apartment, Kim, Liz and Thad would be watching avidly. And in a well-guarded room steps from the president, Jay and Tyler would be preparing for their television debuts, while Will, she imagined, was waiting impatiently for his mission to finally be over.

_If he only knew…_

_But that will come later, tonight, when we've celebrated. For now, I want to savor our victory._

The camera shifted from the anchorman to a podium at the front of the ballroom where Governor Howard, Kensington, NSA Director Walczak and Fred Chambers were all assembled, looking grave. Seconds later, the president entered through a side door, stepped up to the mic, and thanked everyone for attending.

Kate's heart began to pound.

"More than eight weeks ago, the great city of New York, from which I am proud to address you today, suffered the loss not only of a priceless piece of American history when the Drexler Museum was destroyed, but also the sense of safety that the people of New York have fought to regain since September Eleventh," he began, his voice strong and clear.

He went on to explain that he wanted to address the nation because their country had been in a perpetual state of crisis since the Drexler incident. He mentioned Jack Freed's murder, the on-going search for Jay and Tyler, the revelations regarding the People's Militia, and the very recent explosion at the Belenus lab. Kate clasped her hands together, squeezing until her knuckles were white, anxious for him to come to the point.

"My fellow Americans, I am not here today to offer empty words of solace," Shears declared. Kate scooted to the edge of her seat, hardly daring to breathe as the hammer prepared to fall. "I am here today to take action.

"Last night, CIA Deputy Director Andrew Kensington and NSA Director Anita Walczak, who you see here behind me and who will be addressing you shortly, brought to my attention evidence of a very disturbing nature. Evidence I am ashamed to present to the American people, but which cannot be ignored. Evidence which indicates that the tragedies I have just recounted are all connected and which, I deeply regret to say, suggests that we have all been lied to about who is responsible for these events."

Kate closed her eyes to revel in the mental picture of Abrams, Chambers, Drummond and the Buchanans casting about desperately for an escape route and finding none.

Shears pressed on, unrelenting. "You will hear more about this evidence from Deputy Director Kensington and Director Walczak in a few minutes. What they will tell you is that what this country has endured over the last two months amounts to nothing less than an attempted coup – " a collective gasp sounded from those in the ballroom, but the president held up his hand for quiet " – a plot by very wealthy, very powerful men and women, citizens of our own country, to control this nation through fear, chaos and destruction.

"But before you hear this evidence, I want to assure the American people that this plot has not succeeded. The government of the United States will not be controlled by people who operate from the shadows, who employ methods contrary to every principle upon which this country was founded. Our nation is safe," he stressed. "Those responsible for these atrocities are, even as we speak, being detained."

In her mind's eye, Kate – who knew tactics well enough to know how the arrests in the ballroom would be handled so as not to incite a general panic amongst those assembled – saw Abrams, the Buchanans and Drummond being discreetly led away by plainclothes agents who would blend in with the crowd. She smirked as, at the edge of the frame, she glimpsed Fred Chambers frozen in place on the podium, face ashen, knowing his own arrest was imminent but unable to do a damn thing about it.

Marlow, Kate knew, would be the one to take him down.

Although he had already said enough to keep the networks in "live full coverage" mode for days, Shears was not quite finished. Releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, Kate fell back on the couch and allowed herself an unrestrained, ear-to-ear grin as the president neared the end of his speech.

_Always save the best for last._

"Ladies and gentleman, I know I have given you a lot to think about, and I know you have many questions that will need to be answered," the president continued. "Let me assure you that we will not leave here today until the American people have a full understanding of what has happened over the past few weeks. But before I turn the floor over to Director Walczak, I want to introduce to you all two young men who, in their tireless efforts to protect this nation despite being in terrible danger themselves, have demonstrated the exceptionalism of the American spirit.

"Over the last eight weeks, Jay Burchell and Tyler Fog have been painted as terrorists and traitors and murders," Shears related, his voice somber, as if he were delivering a eulogy. "I stand here today to set the record straight. Out of all the deplorable acts that have been committed in recent weeks, the most despicable has been the framing of these innocent young men. I am confident that once the American people see the evidence I have seen, they will know that the People's Militia does not exist, and that Mr. Burchell and Mr. Fog took no part in the crimes for which they have been accused."

He held up two sheets of paper for the camera to see. "I have here two official letters from the Attorney General of the United States, clearing Mr. Burchell and Mr. Fog of all charges related to those crimes. And, if you will permit me, ladies and gentleman, I would like to take a moment to publicly offer these remarkable young men the thanks of a grateful nation."

A stunned silence fell over the room as Jay and Tyler, who until then had been portrayed as the epitome of evil by the FBI, nervously entered and shuffled uncertainly across the podium. Kensington began the applause. Once it started, it seemed to be contagious, as if the fear and confusion those attending the press conference were feeling was being channeled into gratitude for two unlikely heroes; it swelled into a thunderous standing ovation that left Jay and Tyler standing dumbfounded beside the president

Alone in the hotel room, Kate stood and clapped with as much enthusiasm as if she had been in the ballroom herself.

They had made it. They were safe.

**Part 2**

Few events in life could top receiving a stand ovation – led by the president, no less – on national television. But Tyler thought stepping out onto a New York City street without ducking his head to avoid being seen ran a close second; until the Fourth Branch had taken it away, he had never appreciated what a privilege it was to simply walk free.

Signed pardon agreements in hand, Jay and Tyler were ushered by Secret Service agents from the ballroom, through a back hallway, and into a waiting limousine near the employee entrance. Tyler was relieved they hadn't been made to maneuver through the media circus in the lobby. Fifteen minutes of fame – more like two months of infamy, really – was more than enough for him.

Although seeing all those reporters and cameras in the ballroom had started him thinking about what role the media might play in keeping people like Jack Freed and Maxwell Abrams in check…

Tyler and Jay found Will and Kate already inside the limo, heads together and talking quietly. "Not interrupting, are we?" Tyler teased, earning a death-glare from Will. "How'd we look on TV?"

"You were fantastic," Kate replied, as their caravan (they had a full Secret Service detail assigned to them) headed toward his father's Manhattan apartment. "I mean it. You were brilliant."

Still looking sour over Tyler's opening shot, Will piped up, "I thought your head looked kind of big and your ears stuck out funny. You looked okay," he offered to Jay, who snickered.

"I actually don't care how I looked," Jay rejoined. "What I want to know is: Did it work? Did we get them?"

In the elation of having his name cleared, Tyler was ashamed to have momentarily forgotten the other half of their plan – bringing down the most dangerous members of the Fourth Branch. To his relief, Kate confirmed, "All of the targets were arrested, seventeen in all. I saw Marlow on my way down. She said Vivian Buchanan actually fainted, and they had to physically restrain Drummond once they got him in the hall. But they're all in custody now, and probably won't see the outside of a jail cell for the rest of their lives, no matter what their high-powered attorneys say on the news tonight."

That satisfied Tyler. In his opinion, nothing bad enough could happen to members of the Branch.

_Like that son of a bitch who killed my father. Which reminds me… _"What about Chambers?"

"Marlow did the honors." Will's smile of grim satisfaction told Tyler the arrest had not been gentle. "She literally asked him to resist, but he didn't, of course. He looked scared to death."

"I hope – " Tyler caught himself just before blurting out, _I hope they torture the bastard_, which would have been utterly tactless in front of Will and Kate. Afraid his friends knew what he had nearly said, he finished lamely, "I hope he gets what's coming to him."

Unconsciously touching his bandaged arm, Will said simply, "He will."

Before long, in spite of the heavy midday traffic, their caravan arrived at the exclusive Manhattan high-rise where Carlton Fog had spent most of his nights in the city. Although he had grown up shuttled between mansions, luxury apartments, and boarding schools, Tyler had always loved the Manhattan apartment best: His father used to say he could feel the city's pulse from its terraces, and being as big a fan of New York as his father, Tyler had tended to agree.

Secret Service agents ushered their group through a side entrance and into the elevators, which took them to the fifteenth floor. The minute the doors opened into the marble-and-tile foyer, Kim flew into Jay's arms, crying, "We did it, baby! We really did it!"

Laughing, Jay twirled his wife around and kissed her firmly on the lips. "I love you, Mrs. Burchell," he declared, setting her back on her feet. Bending down to speak to her stomach, he added, "I love you, too, baby Burchells."

"We love you, Jay." Kim touched his face tenderly before extricating herself from his arms to hug Will. Tyler didn't miss how she blanched at his injuries, though all she said was, "Thank you, Will, for everything you did to make this happen."

Will shrugged off the thanks with characteristic modesty. "I didn't do much."

Seeing Kim prepared to argue the point, Tyler interrupted with mock-petulance, "Don't I get any sugar?"

"Of course you do." Beaming, Kim hugged him tightly. "Your brother has been so good to us, Tyler. You don't know how grateful I am."

_Thad. _Tyler had been half-wishing, half-dreading to see his brother since he entered the building. Releasing Kim, he asked, "Where is my little bro?"

"Right behind you."

Thad stood in the doorway to the living room, several feet from where they had all gathered in the foyer. Clad in jeans and a tee-shirt, his hair slightly longer than he usually wore it and his chin sporting a five o'clock shadow, he looked so much like Tyler that it was like gazing in a mirror. Until that moment, Tyler had forgotten why people used to mistake them for twins.

_They wouldn't when they got to know us. We are very different people, Thad and I._

Never one for displays of affection, Thad shocked Tyler by suddenly rushing forward and pulling him into a tight embrace. A torrent of emotions poured through Tyler: regret for the hurtful things they had said to one another over the years; grief for his father; relief at achieving his freedom; gratitude for his Thad's loyalty. Above all, though, was a deep, abiding love for his little brother, a love Tyler suddenly realized had not wavered since he first saw Thad in his crib.

He placed a hand on the back of his brother's neck and smoothed his hair. "We're okay now," he told the younger man, who was trembling with the effort of holding back tears. "It's all right now."

Tyler saw Will motion for the others to follow him down the hall toward the kitchen, giving the brothers some privacy.

Thad composed himself in a few minutes, stepping back with a sheepish smile. "Weren't worried about me, were you?" Tyler gently ribbed him.

"Maybe a little," Thad grinned. His face became suddenly serious. "Listen, Ty, I know there's a lot going on right now, but I need to talk to you soon. About Dad."

Tyler's heart skipped a beat. Surely nothing could be wrong, could it?

_Please no, not today. Let me be happy for a little while…_

Seeing the alarm on his brother's face, Thad hurried to assure him, "It's not anything bad. It's actually just the opposite. But it can wait," he tabled. "I think someone else needs to talk to you first."

Tyler didn't have to ask who he meant – Liz. Suddenly anxious to see her, he asked, "Where is she?"

"Upstairs, in your old room." Thad offered him a knowing smile. "Good luck, Ty."

_You're going to need it, _he didn't have to add.

Tyler found Liz seated on his childhood bed – a massive four-poster that would have dwarfed a grown man, and certainly made her look tiny – with her hands folded neatly in her lap and a small travel case beside her feet. She was wearing a simple white sundress that accentuated her olive skin; her face was scrubbed clean, her dark hair pulled into a high ponytail, giving her a fresh, lovely glow. But despite how pretty she looked, the expression on her face as he came to sit beside her told Tyler nothing had changed between them: They still cared for one another, and she was still leaving.

"I saw you on TV," she greeted him. "It was really nice, what the president said about you and Jay."

Hating the strained politeness in her voice, Tyler nevertheless heard a similar false cheer echoed in his own words: "Did you get your pardon agreement?"

"Signed, sealed and delivered. It's in there." She tapped her foot against the suitcase.

A charged, awkward silence fell over them. Tyler wished he could take her hand; he wished he could put things right again. But he sensed that, in her heart, Liz had already said goodbye to him. This meeting was merely a formality.

Not wanting to make things harder for her than they had already been, Tyler choked back all that he had planned to say to her when they were reunited: _"I'm sorry I was a jerk. I know I let you down. I know you have a life to get back to, but you said you loved me and I've missed you so maybe I can call you in a few days and we can talk…"_

"Where will you go?" he heard himself asking instead.

"Agent Marlow is letting me stay at her place until the media hubbub dies down. I want to start back to school in a few weeks when the semester begins, and I'd like to move back into my old apartment if my landlord didn't rent it out from under me. I think I can get my job back at the bar." She shrugged. "You know, just get back to normal. That's what I want."

"You can stay here, you know. You don't have to leave." Tyler didn't expect her to agree, yet he needed to offer, for his own conscience. "It wouldn't just be you and I or anything like that. Jay and Kim will stay for a while, I'm sure."

"Thanks, Tyler. But I think it's better this way."

With that, Liz stood. Tyler followed suit, wondering how in the world to say goodbye to someone he had shared so much with in so little time.

"You're going to be okay now, you know." Liz's voice, free of its restraint and suffused with her familiar vivacity, brought Tyler's downcast eyes up to hers. "Your brother and you have a lot to work out, and you and Jay and Will obviously have a lot to talk about, but it'll all come together, you'll see."

"And what about you? Will you be okay?"

Liz's fingers moved to the burn scar on her arm. "I think so. Remember what you said to me before I left D.C.?"

"I said I would always be glad we met."

"That's how I feel, too." Taking a single step forward, Liz brushed a soft kiss across Tyler's lips, causing his heart to flip over in his chest. "You'll always be special to me, Tyler. Don't forget me, okay?"

_How could I forget you?_

Tyler slipped his hand in Liz's and walked her down the marble staircase to the foyer, carrying her small suitcase. At the bottom, he paused. "Don't you want to tell everyone else goodbye?"

"Kim knows I'm leaving. Anyway, I'll be in touch. I'm only across town."

Tyler understood: Liz did not want a tearful, dramatic scene. He handed her suitcase to the Secret Service agent who would be escorting her downstairs; per President Shears' orders, all of them would be under Secret Service protection until the Branch members' trials were over – possibly a year or two years in the future.

"Take care of yourself," was all he could find to say, as Liz offered him one last, heart-stopping sunny smile and walked out the door.

_She could have been the love of my life – or was that just fear and hormones talking?_

Sorting out his overly-complicated love life would have to wait, Tyler decided, heading down the hall to his father's study, where he instinctively knew Thad would be. Sure enough, when he opened the door his little brother was seated in one of the wing-backed leather chairs facing the marble hearth. Beside him sat a heavy-set, thick-jowled man with a pate of thinning silver hair whom Tyler had known all his life – Horatio Milton, his father's long-time attorney.

"Milt!" Tyler cried, using the lawyer's nickname – he threatened lawsuits if called Horatio. They shook hands warmly. "Damn, it's good to see you."

"And you, Tyler." Milt, a fierce battle-axe who had pulled himself up by the bootstraps from a south-side Chicago slum, looked hail and hardy as ever. Tyler took a seat next to his brother as Milt went on, "I was just saying to Thad, I tried to get your father to tell you two about the Fourth Branch years ago, but he wouldn't listen. I don't think Carlton really understood how dangerous those people were – until it was too late, that is."

For some reason, it had not immediately dawned on Tyler that, as his father's attorney and closest confidante, Milt would have been aware of the Fog family's connection to the Fourth Branch for years. Tyler was angry through he knew he had no right to be: His father was the one who had owed them the truth, not Milt. Still, with his father gone, Tyler found it difficult not to harbor some resentment toward his father's old friend. Taking in Thad's troubled expression, he guessed that his brother felt the same.

"Milt's here because of Dad's will," Thad informed Tyler. "We read it without you, obviously, so I thought Milt should be here to explain it to you, in case you have questions."

The will. His trust fund. His inheritance.

Understandably, the horror of witnessing his father's murder had driven from Tyler's mind all thoughts of what Carlton's death might mean for him financially. On the run ever since, stealing cars and hiding out in cheap motel rooms or anonymous apartments, he hadn't given much consideration to how he would provide for himself when – or if – he secured his freedom. Now, it suddenly occurred to him with shocking clarity that his entire financial future depended on what Carlton had left to him, because Tyler did not have a cent of his own to his name.

_I'm either about to be filthy rich or totally destitute._

_Oh well, maybe I can write a bestseller about two guys who find out their roommate's a spy…_

His flippancy about inheriting a veritable fortune startled Tyler. He had always loved fine, fancy things; living in graduate housing had been like a prison sentence for him, even though he had made the best of it. Perhaps weeks of facing the real world had changed him. Perhaps, he reflected wryly, it was possible to take Manhattan out of the boy.

What would hurt him more than poverty, he reflected, would be finding out that his father had disinherited him in favor of Thad, his golden child.

Tamping down familiar pangs of resentment toward his brother, Tyler made a show of leaning back and folding his arms behind his head, the picture of nonchalance. "So what's the verdict, Milt?" he quipped. "Did the old man cut me out?"

"Cut you out?" Tyler sounded mortified. "Why would he do that?"

Milt spoke up before Tyler could launch into the laundry-list of faults Carlton had always found with him. "Your father's will has changed over the years, Tyler, as he acquired and relinquished property," he began, a diplomatic way of referring to Carlton's numerous failed marriages. "But in every version, his wishes have been the same: that you and Thad would each assume control of your trust funds immediately upon his death, that you would each inherit half of his property, and that as adults you would assume joint control of Fog Industries."

_He loved us the same. Exactly the same._

Becoming, in the span of ten seconds, a multi-millionaire and co-owner of one of the nation's largest, most successful corporations did not compare with discovering that his father had never preferred his brother to him. A burden Tyler had carried for the better part of twenty years lifted from his shoulders; a bubble of joy rose beneath his heart, causing him to sit up straighter.

"I've never been interested in the family business," Thad was saying to Tyler, who tried to come back down from the clouds far enough to listen. "When we're all safe again, I'm going to back to Minnesota to finish my residency and become a doctor. But I thought," he offered hopefully, "that I could stay on as a silent partner or whatever you call it. Just, you know, give you my vote when you need it to make the Board do things your way."

Tyler laughed at that. "I'm not going to be actually running Dad's company at first, Thad. The ink on my MBA is still wet."

"The point is, your father made it so the two of you would always be taken care of." Milt's quiet, somber words stilled the brothers. "No matter what anyone tells you about Carlton, I want you to know that he loved each of you more than anything in the world. I was with him when you were born, and he never closed a deal that made him so proud or so happy."

Reflexively, the brothers turned together to look at the large oak desk where their father had so often sat, yelling into the phone or rifling through papers or typing furiously at his computer. Knowing Carlton would never sit there again broke Tyler's heart.

At the same time, he was certain he could not feel any more emotions or his heart would burst: He had received his freedom, lost his girlfriend, reconnected with his brother, discovered his father's love for him and become an incredibly wealthy man in less than six hours. Getting to his feet, he announced, "I say we start putting this money to good use right now. Milt, I hope you can stay, because I'm ordering a case of Dom Perignon and the most over-priced food I can find in this city, and we are celebrating."

Thad and Milt seconded this idea. Leaving them in the study, Tyler stepped into the hallway and ran directly into Nell Graham.

She looked downright delicious in skinny jeans and a black tee-shirt that did not even come close to concealing the .9 millimeter on her hip. "See the new girlfriend off?" she asked scornfully.

Taunting an armed Nell did not seem like a smart play, so Tyler answered bluntly, "We're not seeing each other anymore. She got tired of me."

"I can't imagine why." Nell fluttered her eyelashes at him.

Perhaps it was just his happiness at how the day had turned out, but Tyler found her cattiness endearing. He was not, however, enough of a cad to see one lover out the door and swoop another one into his arms, so he did not return her flirtatious smile. Instead, he asked out of real curiosity, "You sticking around for long?"

"I'm your new security detail, baby."

"Nell," Tyler began, searching for a way to explain that, although he was attracted to her (to put it lightly), he wasn't ready to pick up where they'd left off.

Apparently knowing what he meant to say, Nell beat him to the punch. "I get it." Her dark eyes became serious. "I lied to you for a long time. I just want you to know, my original directive had nothing to do with you. I was only supposed to help Will, and spy on him for Kensington, of course. But Freed changed my assignment when you kept calling me. He thought I might be…useful as your girlfriend. I didn't like lying to you, Tyler, but the truth could have gotten you killed."

Tyler recognized the reality in that and nodded to show he understood. Stepping closer to him, Nell continued huskily, "Caring for you, that wasn't a lie. I know I have a lot to make up for," the playful spark returned to her eyes, accompanied by a seductive smile he knew only too well, "but I'm not going anywhere, Tyler. I told Kensington I'm through with undercover ops, and when I know you and Jay are safe, I'm through with the CIA, period. But in the meantime, I have every intention of winning you back, so be forewarned."

Watching her saunter down the hallway in her curve-hugging jeans, Tyler had to admit that he could not think of anything more enjoyable than being pursued by Nell.

**Part 3**

Marlow did not enjoy violence. She did not believe in torture under any circumstances. She had faith in the system: arrest, interview, investigation, trial. So, while she would gladly have punched Fred Chambers in the face during his arrest, she had no intention of jeopardizing the admissibility of his confession by resorting to behavior she would never condone in another person.

And she fully intended to extract a confession from him. She was a good enough interrogator not to need torture for that.

This was the case she put to Stone at the secure NSA facility where Chambers, the Buchanans and Drummond were being held. Abrams, being the more high-profile prisoner, had been transported to a military base in Maryland. Stone had been put in charge of the interviews at the NSA facility, and he was understandably reluctant to turn Marlow loose on the man who had killed her partner and ordered her execution.

When logic failed, Marlow attempted guilt, with better results: "You beat the hell out of Tyrese Franklin during his 'interview,' Harold. I'm asking you to let me _talk _to Chambers."

Dropping his voice too low for anyone else to hear, Stone relented, "All right, Jan. But don't forget that the evidence we have against these suspects isn't exactly one-hundred percent." By that, she knew he was referring to the editing and doctoring of evidence Traveler and Westbrook had performed late into the night to ensure the protection of the Branch members who were on their side. "Walczak wants signed, air-tight confessions from each of them. So don't do anything that's going to bite us in the ass when we get to court, okay?"

Marlow gave her word. If Stone only knew how badly she wanted to see Chambers behind bars, she thought, he wouldn't have worried. What she wanted for Chambers was public humiliation, the loss of everything he held dear, and a lifetime to sit in a cell meditating on his woes. That would satisfy her far more than hearing him squeal in pain a few times.

Chambers paled – if it was possible for his chalky face to turn any whiter – when Marlow entered the small, windowless room where his interview was to take place. A camera above the door recorded everything that was said and done in the room, but Marlow had to admit, the absence of windows suggested less above-board interrogation techniques than the FBI employed.

She said nothing to Chambers as she seated herself across from him. Producing a tape-recorder from her bag, she placed it in the center of the table and pressed 'play.'

Otis Whaley's voice, harsh and raspy from weeks on a ventilator, filled the room.

"Chambers shot your partner. Borjes, I think was his name. He shot him and gave me the gun, told me to get rid of it. Then he stood there and watched the poor bastard bleed out."

Marlow clicked the tape off, noting that Chambers had not reacted to it. She put a single question to him: "Is it true?"

"Yes."

She nearly fell out of her chair. She had anticipated grueling hours of back-and-forth, trying to outsmart and wear down her prey. Not this – not a simple, honest answer.

Chambers smiled mirthlessly at her incredulous expression. "Do you expect me to deny it, Marlow? What would be the point? I could confess to being the Zodiac killer and I'd never stand trial for it."

_Oh, so you think your little friends in the Fourth Branch are going to protect you? Well, think again – they've had a change in management._

Careful not to refer to the Fourth Branch – Marlow didn't know how that phrase was going to be kept out of court, but she didn't intend to be the one who put it in an official transcript – Marlow challenged, "It sounds like you think you have friends in high places, Fred. Who is it exactly that you're expecting to bail you out?"

Chambers laughed, a hollow sound that made the hairs on Marlow's arms stand up. "You misunderstand me. I don't expect to be rescued. I expect to be killed off, at the first possible opportunity."

Leaning forward, Chambers continued darkly, "You don't have any idea what you're into here, do you? You think you've won. But all you've done, Marlow, is sign my death warrant, and yours, and Burchell's and Fog's and Doherty's and whoever else's you've been working with behind my back."

Marlow refused to be ruffled. "You're ascribing an awful lot of power to these people you work for. Has it ever occurred to you that they might not be as omnipotent as they'd like you to believe?"

"I started working for Maxwell Abrams when I was twenty. I was a Marine then, First Recon. If I told you what I've seen these people do…"

His voice trailed off. Marlow wondered if Chambers was just trying to rattle her. Yet he seemed really, truly frightened. Studying his pale, sweaty face, she began to worry that his discomfiture at the hotel had not been fear of imprisonment but rather fear of what the Branch would do to silence him.

_Did we arrest enough of them to prevent that from happening? Did we cut off the snake's head or just make it angry?_

At least Chambers was willing to talk. For six hours straight, he confessed to a dizzying array of felonies, many of them committed under the auspices of the FBI.

"Abrams tasked me to Jack Freed twelve years ago. That was how I got started with the Bureau," he related. He had taken his suit jacket off and rolled up his sleeves; they were each on their fourth cup of coffee. "I knew about the Drexler plot a month before it happened. But Burchell and Fog were supposed to die in the blast, not start running around Manhattan putting up flyers for their missing friend Will Traveler. Freed ordered me to bring them in, and fast, but they kept eluding us. I was convinced Traveler had to have warned them, that he had to have trained them."

Marlow smirked, proud of Jay and Tyler's resourcefulness. "Traveler hadn't told them anything. They just outdid us, plain and simple. Having the truth on your side can be a powerful motivator."

"Yeah, well, let's hope they stay motivated. They're going to need it before this is all over." Chambers fell back in his chair, suddenly weary, as if his energy had been instantly sapped. "I'd like to speak to my family, Marlow. I'd like to say goodbye."

Not by nature a cruel woman, Marlow felt a twinge of sympathy for Chambers – a twinge that died as she pictured Borjes' lifeless body on a gurney.

"You're being held under the Patriot Act, Chambers. You aren't allowed any phone calls or any visitors for the time being."

"They're going to kill us all, Marlow." Chambers lifted bloodshot eyes to hers. "If you want to protect yourself and those boys, then get them the hell out of town. Disappear."

Unnerved by Chambers' insistence about their imminent deaths, Marlow's cool threatened to snap. "How could you work for people you believe to be this cold? Why didn't you walk away?"

"Did you see what happened to Traveler when he tried that?" Chambers shot back. "You do not walk away from these people lightly. By the time I realized I even wanted to, I had a wife and a daughter. Christ, Marlow," he said, his voice breaking, "they've sent me surveillance photos of Marie at her school. Just to let me know they can get to her, anytime they want. She's my _child._"

The utter lack of concern for human life displayed by the Fourth Branch sickened Marlow. She needed a break; she needed to clear her head, get back in the game. Gathering her things, she told Chambers, "I could almost feel sorry for you if you hadn't killed my partner. But I'm afraid you'll have to look for sympathy elsewhere – you won't find it from me."

"I didn't want to hurt Borjes." The stillness in Chambers' voice stopped her, brought her gaze to his bloodless face, where the truth was written. "He was a good man, a good agent. I liked him."

_You shot him and watched him die, you son of a bitch. _

Before Marlow could hurl accusations at him, Chambers remarked, "Freed even suggested I bring into the Branch."

Marlow's stomach tightened. She told herself that she would never, ever accept that Borjes had been involved in this cast of horrors, regardless of what Chambers or anyone else said. Nevertheless, in the interest of thoroughness, she queried, "And did you?"

"No."

"Why not?" _Because you knew he was too good of a person to join in your bloodlettings…_

Chambers looked away. It was the first time during their entire interview, in which he had admitted to some fairly horrific actions, that he had been unable to meet her eyes. That alone told her how deeply ashamed he was of killing Borjes.

"I'd been priming him for months when I got word that a highly-decorated agent from the New Jersey field office was transferring in to us. Borjes' partner had just retired, so it would've looked suspicious if I hadn't put you two together, even though looking at your file I knew I'd have a hard time recruiting him under your nose.

"I had my orders, though, so I think I would have tried it anyway, except for the way he looked at you." Chambers kept his eyes on the floor. "He fell in love with you right from the start, Marlow, I could see it – he looked at you the same way I still look at my wife, everyday. And I knew if he committed to the Branch, he could never be with you. So I decided to give you two a chance."

_And I didn't take it._

Overcome by grief she thought she had put behind her, Marlow moved quickly to the door, determined not to break down in front of Chambers. Her hand on the knob, she paused once more to take in his final warning.

"Don't come back, Marlow. Walk out that door and keep walking. Otherwise, you're as dead as I am."

**Part 4**

Several glasses of Dom Perignon and two platefuls of lobster into their impromptu celebration party, Will excused himself from the revelry and stumbled out of the dining room and up the stairs to his "room," which was practically an apartment in and of itself. Kicking off his shoes and turning on a steaming hot shower, Will had to admit that he hadn't left because he was drunk – that would have been pleasant, really – but because he was too tired and sore to stay upright any longer.

If he wanted to make a clean get-away, he was going to need his strength.

It had not escaped Will's notice that no one – not Kensington, not Shears, not Kate – had mentioned his own pardon agreement. That told him, simply, he would not receive one. He wasn't sure why they thought he would be too thick to pick up on that fact, but he wasn't about to stand around trying to figure it out when he could be getting the hell out of there before they whacked him.

Dying young was something he was willing but not eager to do.

The hot water revived him somewhat. Will noted the progress of his healing as he scrubbed off the day's dirt: The gashes on his wrist had scabbed over enough to no longer require bandages, although the "tattoo" Alex had given him was healing more slowly; the stitches in his scalp and above his lip could soon come out; his bruises were fading; his fractured bones were knitting back together, becoming less tender everyday. Other than still tiring much easier than usual, he felt relatively close to his old self.

Toweling off in the luxurious bathroom – did anyone really need a gold-filigree shower curtain? – Will slipped on a pair of black sweat pants and a Cubs tee-shirt before padding barefoot across the thick-pile carpet to the bed.

_Sleep. A few hours' sleep and then I've got to get moving, if I'm going…_

The next day, Kensington had dropped by to inform them, they were all expected to fly back to Washington, D.C., to be deposed by officials from the Justice Department. Technically, the pardon agreements Jay, Tyler, Kim and Liz had signed excused them from any further service, yet they were all eager to do their part to put men like Chambers and Abrams behind bars, so they had agreed. Except for Liz, who Kensington told them would be providing her deposition at the FBI's New York field office.

Apparently, when Liz Schultz left, she made it permanent. Will respected that about her.

Though he had said nothing to the group, the last thing Will intended to do was hop on a plane and walk directly into the belly of the beast. If the Fourth Branch wanted him dead, they were going to have to find him first.

_I wish I'd had more of a chance to say goodbye, to Jay and Tyler and Kim. But maybe it's better this way – maybe Liz had the right idea: Just leave, just walk away…_

He was drifting toward peaceful oblivion when someone knocked on the door. Groaning in protest, Will toyed with the idea of not answering, but sure as he didn't the visit would be important. Forcing himself to sit up, he called, "Who is it?"

"Kate."

"Come in," he called back, because he couldn't very well pretend to be asleep at that point.

Kate was rather mussed, no doubt from dancing at their little fiesta : Her hair had come loose from its ponytail and fell in soft waves around her shoulders; her mascara was a little smeared, giving her sapphire eyes a smoky look; her cheeks were a little flushed from the champagne. The overall effect, he found, was rather pleasing.

The last thing Will wanted was a late-night encounter with Kaitlyn Westbrook. He had made up his mind to leave; whatever might have happened between them at some unknown point in the future was better left unexplored.

"You okay?" she asked from the doorway. "You left in a hurry."

"Fine. Just…you know."

"Beat to hell and back less than a week ago and not really up for an all-night bender?" Kate supplied, grinning. Stepping into the room, she closed the door behind her, walked to the French doors that opened onto a terrace overlooking the city, and pulled them open. She took a deep breath of balmy air and declared, "It's a gorgeous night."

"I think being free of the Branch makes it pretty gorgeous." Will, deciding it was safer not to start a conversation from bed, crossed to her and walked out onto the terrace.

They leaned against the stone rail sixteen stories above the street, where cars moved slowly by and, though it was past midnight, people still hurried along. Will's was the only bedroom in the apartment with a private terrace, he noted; suddenly, he wondered if Thad and Tyler had given him Carlton's room, perhaps as a gesture of thanks.

When would they all stop acting like they owed him anything?

Kate broke the companionable silence after what seemed like a long time. "Kensington's asked me to stay and work for him. For the Branch, really, not the CIA." She paused. "I told him I would."

Will wasn't surprised. After their last night in Miami, he had suspected that Kate would never leave her life of espionage behind. "If that's what you want, then I'm happy for you."

"It is what I want. I think I can do some good."

Kate allowed another long, easy silence to settle in before coming to what he realized must have been the point of her visit: "Will, Kensington asked me to speak to you regarding your pardon agreement."

Hope flared in Will's chest. Could he have been wrong? Could the Branch intend to let him live after all?

One thing Will took on faith: Kate was not going to lie to him or try to trick him. If she thought the Branch wanted him dead, she would tell him. Will might not be convinced that she was in love with him, but he knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that she cared for him too much to let him be hurt. She had, after all, taken Alex out with a Mack truck for torturing him.

"The Branch is prepared to offer you total immunity for everything that you have done since joining Hometown," Kate informed him. She continued to stare down at the street, however, and her refusal to meet his eyes quelled Will's hopes. "They don't have any interest in hurting you – " _Here it comes, _he thought, _here's the condition _" – if they know they can trust you not to reveal what you know about their organization."

Staring down with her into the late-night traffic, Will challenged, "I took the same risk Jay and Tyler did by handing over our evidence without asking for my pardon agreement first. How come that isn't good enough for them?"

"Don't be naïve, Will. Jay and Tyler know next to nothing about the Branch when compared to you." Kate turned to face him, and Will, never one to back down from a fight, swiveled around as well. "You had to know this wouldn't end for you like it has for them. You and I are both into this way too deeply to walk away."

"So Kensington didn't 'offer' you a job, then? He gave you an ultimatum, too?"

Kate's hesitation told Will everything he needed to know. Waving off her response, he declared angrily, "The Branch can go fuck themselves. I'm not going to be their puppet any longer."

"It wouldn't be like that," Kate argued back, her voice rising slightly. "Do you think I would agree to do these people's dirty work?"

Unsure of why he was determined to wound her, Will nevertheless shot back acidly, "I don't know, Kate. What have you been doing for the last decade? You sure you know when these people are telling you the truth?"

"I'm not the only one who ended up working for the Branch, let's don't forget." He had apparently succeeded in getting under her skin, because Kate went from impassioned to ice-cold in two seconds, a move he had seen from her before and knew spelled danger. "So before you go questioning my judgment, you might want to look in the mirror."

"Yeah, well I'm not the one getting ready to repeat my mistakes."

"No, you're the one who's about to get himself killed over stubbornness."

Kate's words had a chilling effect on Will, which he supposed was their intent. Suddenly feeling terribly exposed on the terrace, in full view of a hundred windows from which a sniper could be lining up a bead on him, Will demanded coldly, "Is that a threat, Kate?"

Kate couldn't have looked more stung if he had slapped her. Silence stretched between them like a wire as she stared him down; remembering the risks she had taken for him, that she had refused to save herself and abandon him to torture and death, Will began to squirm under her accusing glare.

Finally, he grated out, "I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't set me up."

"I should hope so." Kate accepted his apology coolly, but she didn't press the issue, which Will, unaccustomed to apologizing, appreciated.

He ran a hand through his hair, ordering himself to calm down. The situation was what it was: He was being offered a deal, and although his first instinct said to run like hell, he realized that the only reasonable response was to hear Kate out.

"So tell me about this work I'd be doing," he said, grudgingly.

"You wouldn't be working for people like Abrams," Kate stressed. "You would be working directly for Kensington, just like me. In fact," she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "you would be working _with _me. Kensington thinks we make a good team."

"I can't imagine why."

They shared a smile over that, and the tension between them relaxed a little. Will turned his back to the street and leaned against the railing, folding his arms over his chest as he considered the Branch's offer.

Before Maya, once he joined Hometown he had never thought seriously about making a life outside of the FBI. He hadn't liked or agreed with everything he had been asked to do, but he had liked knowing that he was making a difference in the world. He could also admit to himself that, as someone who didn't receive much praise or encouragement growing up, he had been gratified by the recognition he received for doing his job well. He was an excellent operative, he knew this, without arrogance.

_If I'm not a spy, what am I?_

With Maya by his side, Will's life would have had purpose. He could have been a janitor and not have cared, because she was what gave meaning to his life. But on his own, what would he do? Create one fictional persona after another, living under an assumed identity for a year or two years before moving on, never daring to stay put for too long for fear of being discovered, never daring to let anyone be close to him?

Money wasn't the issue. As he had told Jay and Tyler shortly after Freed's murder, Will had more than enough in a secret account in Augusta to keep him comfortable for the rest of his life. If he needed to disappear, he had the financial means to do so, anyway. He had seen to that once he asked Maya to run away with him.

No, the issue was what to do with himself once he was no longer Will Traveler. And, whether he agreed to the Branch's terms or decided to take his chances on the run, Will understood that very, very soon, his life as Will Traveler would come to an end. That mission was over.

Kate stood by quietly, giving him time to think. At length, Will voiced the first of several arguments against what the Branch was offering: "You say we'd be working for Kensington. But how would we know who he's working for?"

"We watch him," Kate replied evenly. "Part of the reason I'm staying is so I can ask those very questions. I don't intend to work for these people on blind faith, you know. I want on the inside so I can see what they're really doing."

Will understood Kate's plan, and he supposed she was well-placed to pull it off. After all, she had operated as a double agent inside Freed's organization for ten years; she knew how to spy on her employers without tipping them off. In a way, the idea of keeping an eye on the Branch, of preventing them from hurting more innocent people, was as attractive to him as joining Hometown had been six years ago.

None of that changed the fact that he would still be working for the Branch, though. And, Will reflected as his aching body protested standing up so long and his mind filled with the memory of carrying Maya to her funeral pyre, he had plenty of reasons to hate them.

Thus came his next argument: "These people killed Maya, Kate." He could tell by the way her shoulders stiffened that she had been waiting for this. "They used me to frame my best friends, they tortured me, they murdered the woman I love. It's a tall order to be asked to put all that aside and throw in with them."

Carefully, as if she were tip-toeing around landmines, Kate offered what Will sensed was a well thought-out counterargument.

"Maxwell Abrams ordered your interrogation. Jack Freed tasked you to frame Jay and Tyler. Jack Freed wanted the Drexler destroyed, and he decided to kill Maya. Those are two people, Will. Only two people."

Moving to stand in front of him, Kate reached out and placed her fingers lightly on his shoulder. "I'm not saying there aren't others like Freed and Abrams inside the Branch. I know there are. But you wouldn't be betraying Jay or Tyler or Maya if you worked for Kensington. You wouldn't be saying that everything is forgiven and forgotten, that what they did to your friends and Maya and to you is okay. You _would _be trying to stop the same things from happening to anyone else, ever again."

The world seemed frozen as a million thoughts tumbled through Will's mind at once. He was acutely aware of the sounds of the city drifting up from below, of the warm breeze ruffling his hair, of the pressure of Kate's fingertips on his shoulder, of the jasmine-vanilla scent of her perfume wafting over him. As the moment stretched on, Will let all that Kate had said sink in; he let himself feel the pain, the fear, the confusion the Branch's ultimatum had stirred up inside of him; he let himself consider the possibility that he could devote the rest of his life to fighting the Fourth Branch from the inside; he let himself imagine a life far away from all this madness – a life on the run, to be sure, but one lived on his terms, nobody else's.

In the end, it call came down to one question, which he put earnestly to Kate as if she could answer it for him: "What if I just don't want to do this any longer?"

Kate's hand fell back to her side. "Then you either do it anyway," she answered, looking hard into his face, "or you disappear where they can't ever find you."

So that was his choice.

"When do I have to let Kensington know?" Will sincerely hoped he would have time to think things over; he felt too scattered at the moment to make a decision.

"By the time our plane lands in Washington tomorrow evening."

So he had time to think it over.

They walked back into the bedroom together. It was late, nearly one; Will knew Kate should be leaving, and from the way she stood awkwardly in the center of the room, he knew she knew it, too. Yet neither of them suggested that she be going. They both realized this could be one of the last times they ever spoke to one another, and Will found it surprisingly difficult to say good night.

Almost shyly, Kate suggested, "We could talk for a while. Not about the Branch or Kensington or any of that. Just…talk."

Will had a flash memory of Kate on the day she had revealed her feelings for him. What had she said then? That she had been invisible to him for two years, and that now, what she wanted most was for him to see her?

He realized with sudden clarity that he had never really done that – he had never really seen her. He knew a great deal about Kaitlyn Westbrook, CIA operative, but next to nothing about Kate, the woman. If he ever wanted to, now might be his last chance.

So they talked, through the night and into the dawn, stretched out on the enormous bed with their faces turned to one another but their heads on separate pillows, a respectable distance separating them. They discovered a mutual passion for classic American authors: Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Poe, Hawthorne, Elliot. Kate liked poetry more than Will did, it turned out; she impressed him by reciting Frost's "The Road Not Taken," a poem she told him she had memorized in the fifth grade. They also liked many of the same films – Will was a closet Woody Allen fan, and Kate had a healthy appreciation for his work as well – but differed significantly in their choice of music, Kate admitting a fondness for Garth Brooks and Will upholding The Doors as the best band of the twentieth century. They shared a similar affinity for jazz and the blues, however, and had each spent considerable time in New Orleans just for its music.

Will learned that Kate held a degree in Criminal Psychology from Georgetown, from where she had been recruited into the CIA by Kensington based on her senior thesis, a profile of a white supremacist responsible for dozens of church bombings in black communities. She had tested so well for clandestine operations that within a year of joining the Agency she was no longer a junior member of Kensington's staff, interviewing and profiling suspected terrorists, but a full-fledged spy.

She didn't mention her family, and Will, respecting her privacy, didn't ask. He got the impression, though, that Kate was as alone in the world as he was, and had been for a long time.

He also learned that she could be warm, witty, and even a little silly, things he would never have guessed from the cool, sophisticated, merciless face she had shown in their first meeting. He saw those traits in her as well, a sort of natural guardedness that translated into a graceful yet distant, almost cold poise.

He wondered how her perception of him changed throughout the night. He held most of his secrets back, yet in a truer sense, he allowed Kate to see more of himself than he had anyone besides Maya.

Sometime shortly after dawn, they slipped downstairs to the kitchen in search of breakfast. Servants had cleaned up the party mess, but Will made a pot of coffee and Kate discovered left-over buttery croissants in the pantry. They fixed plates and returned to Will's room, where they settled in at a wrought-iron table near the railing.

They didn't say much while they ate. Will suspected Kate's thoughts were the same as his: The night was over, a new day had dawned, and before sunset their lives would be very different no matter what choice he made.

He still had not made that choice. His indecision troubled him, for Will was normally a very decisive person. He was torn between escaping, leaving it all behind and making the best of things on the run, and agreeing to the Branch's terms, becoming a spy within as well as for their organization. Soon, he would be forced to decide, whether he knew what he really wanted or not.

But they still had a little while before his time ran out.

One thing Will was certain of, watching Kate watching him out of the corner of her eye, was that he needed to let her know that he cared for her. What he had told Jay still held firm: He was not in love with Kate. His heart and head were still too full of Maya, and would be for a long time to come, for him to love anyone else. Yet the night they had just passed together had affirmed for Will that someday, he could fall for Kate. That possibility was real enough to make walking away from her difficult.

Will stood and walked to the railing, where he held out his hand for Kate to join him. His heart was racing; he was fearful of taking a step he would regret. He didn't want Kate to misunderstand his intentions. He didn't want to offer her hope of a promise he wasn't prepared to make, even if he remained a spy.

They stood facing one another. Kate looked tired but pretty with the rosy early morning sunlight spilling across her golden hair and fair, freckled skin. Will placed his hands on either side of her face, tilting her chin up toward him and skimming her delicate jaw with his thumbs. She shivered.

_Kiss her._

Will's mouth was suddenly dry. A little hoarsely, he asked, "Do you remember when we danced after Jay and Kim's wedding?"

Though that night seemed an age ago with everything that had happened since, he knew Kate recalled it as vividly as he did. She nodded uncertainly, obviously wondering where this was going.

"Do you remember what you said to me before you left?"

Voice shaking a little, Kate replied, "I said I didn't want to leave without having kissed you."

"I may be leaving, Kate." He saw the pain that caused her and hated it, but she deserved the truth. "And if I do, I don't want to never have done this."

With that, he dipped his head and kissed her.

Kate melted into him. It was the only way Will could describe how her body seemed to mould itself to his, her arms entwining behind his head, her fingers curling gently in the back of his hair, as his hands moved of their own accord to her waist, steadying her when her knees seemed to go weak. It was the only word for how her lips responded to his, warmly, softly, fluidly, giving him total control, pressing harder only when he did, offering no resistance when he deepened the kiss.

_I'm yours, _she seemed to be telling him. _Wholly, completely, forever yours._

With an effort, Will drew back from her. The kiss had left them both flushed and breathless. Surprisingly, though, he sensed no awkwardness in the wake of their passionate embrace: It was as if they had both known this would happen eventually, and they were both content to let it be what it was for the moment – just a kiss.

They walked back into his room with their fingers linked. Kate smiled at him as she released his hand, saying, "I'm going to go shower. The others will be up soon, and we need to get moving."

As she turned to go, she placed a paper on the bed. "Your pardon agreement," she explained. "Kensington will meet us at the airport in D.C. and you can give it to him then – signed or not."

Will nodded to show he understood. The time had come to decide, because if he didn't intend to sign that agreement, he had best have an escape plan in mind before he stepped onto the plane.

In the doorway, Kate paused briefly to look back. "Whatever happens," she reminded him simply, "you'll always be Will to me."

_Author's Note: While fully respecting policy about not including song lyrics in chapters, I have to point anyone who is interested to Lifehouse's "Whatever It Takes." That was my inspiration for Part 4 of this episode and would definitely be on the "soundtrack" if this story had one! _


	13. Chapter 13

**Episode 13:**

"**Endgame"**

**Part 1**

Jay loved being married. He didn't care that it wasn't legal (though he intended to make it so at the first opportunity). Each time he looked at Kim, all he could think was, _She's mine, forever._

They all had plenty of reasons to be deliriously happy, Jay reflected, sitting onboard the private jet Director Walczak had provided to take them from New York to their depositions with the Justice Department in D.C. He and Kim had their new marriage and their babies; a leading obstetrician, brought to the Manhattan apartment at Thad's insistence, had assured the parents-to-be that their twins were two of the healthiest fetuses she had ever seen. Thad and Tyler had their renewed friendship with one another as well as their newly-inherited fortunes. Stone had a promotion to Deputy Director of the NSA, skipping five years' toil through the ranks practically overnight. Marlow had her vindication for assisting the Drexler fugitives and the satisfaction of taking down the man who had killed her partner, not to mention offers of jobs from Quantico and the NSA. Kate had her life and career with the CIA back, which seemed to suit her, though it would not have been the path Jay would have chosen.

And Will? Well, Will didn't know it yet, but his two best friends had plans for him: A job as Tyler's personal head of security, with a room in the Manhattan apartment for as long as he wanted it, and in about seven months' time, an even greater responsibility as the godfather of one of Jay and Kim's babies (Tyler, of course, being selected as the other twin's). Once the three of them had a moment alone, Jay and Tyler intended to present their offer to Will – and to refuse to take no for an answer.

So far during the flight, such an opportunity had not presented itself. Will, Kate and Nell were cloistered at the back of the plane talking solemnly, about what Jay had no idea – spy business of some sort, he assumed. With Kim beside him and Tyler and Thad across from him, Jay was caught up in Stone's explanation of how the Branch prisoners' trials would be handled.

"The Attorney General wants them held under the Patriot Act," Stone related. "They could conceivably be imprisoned for years without being charged for anything, but given the media attention this case is going to get, that won't happen. In all likelihood, they'll each be charged with high treason."

"How will the rest of the Branch members keep from being exposed during all of this?" Jay, unable to quiet the lawyer in himself, queried. "I mean, I can't imagine that Chambers and the other prisoners who aren't very high up on the ladder aren't going to offer up bigger fish to get plea agreements. And people like Abrams are surely going to at least _try_ pointing the finger at someone else. If I was their attorney, I would definitely advise them to take those actions."

"Acting the diabolical lawyer, are we, Counselor?" Sauntering over to their group, Nell draped herself across Tyler's lap. Jay felt Kim stiffen beside him. He shared her thoughts: Nell was not good for Tyler. Jay wasn't sure Liz had been any better for his friend, but at least she wasn't a spy with loyalties they could only guess at.

_I don't care if Nell did save our asses in New Haven, I'm not convinced I trust her._

"Every one of the suspects in custody knows what'll happen to them if they say too much," Nell picked up Jay's question, apparently oblivious to the dagger-look Kim was shooting her as she rested her head on Tyler's shoulder. "That'll keep most of them quiet. And the ones who do talk, well…"

Nell ran a finger across her throat.

Jay noticed Marlow staring out the window, a troubled frown creasing her brow. A pin-prick of fear pierced his happy balloon. Marlow looked worried, and Jay couldn't imagine that her concern was for the prisoners on the NSA plane that would be landing with them in D.C., from where they would be transported to a top-secret location for the foreseeable future.

Were they as far out of danger as they believed themselves to be?

Before he could put that question to Marlow, however, the pilot's voice came over the speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as you may have noticed we have already begun our descent into Washington, D.C. We should be on the ground in the next ten minutes. It's a beautiful day in the capitol, so I hope you all brought your sunglasses. Deputy Director Kensington asked me to pass along that he will be greeting you personally when we land.

"Now, if you will all please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts, we will prepare for our final approach."

Kim gripped Jay's hand tightly. He knew she hated flying, especially landing, so he whispered in her ear, "Don't worry. I have a feeling Walczak gave us the NSA's best pilot – we're pretty important to national security right now, you know."

Kim giggled.

Tyler, his lap free of Nell, who had taken her own seat beside him for the landing, leaned toward them with a conspiratorial grin. "Have you guys noticed that Will and Kate haven't even acknowledged the rest of us during this whole flight?"

Fear knotted up inside Jay's stomach again. If Marlow was worried and Kate and Will were plotting, something had to be up…

"So?" Kim challenged Tyler, looking defensive. Jay placed a hand over hers. He knew she tended to be over-protective when it came to Will, and she would not take well to Tyler's poking fun at his relationship with Kate – if what Will and Kate had could be called a "relationship."

"So," Tyler grinned devilishly, "did anybody else notice that Kate didn't come back to the party after she went to 'check' on Will last night? And I don't know about you guys, but I didn't see her in her room when I went up to bed."

Jay glanced back at the couple in question, who were seated across from one another talking in low tones. He couldn't deny that something seemed different between the two of them, yet Will had made it clear to Jay that he wasn't interested in getting involved with Kate. After seeing his friend with Maya at her gravesite, Jay found it hard to believe that Will could move on so quickly.

But if Kate and Will weren't absorbed in one another, what were they so concerned over?

"Nell was just back there with them," Kim pointed out. Speaking directly to Nell for perhaps the first time since she had revealed herself to them as a spy, Kim demanded, "What were they talking about?"

"The evidence they're working on for Kensington against Abrams," Nell answered, a little too readily in Jay's opinion. He had a bad feeling Nell was lying, and an even worse feeling that Will, Kate and Marlow were holding back something important.

The plane began to descend in earnest then. Jay was forced to save his questions until they were on the ground because Kim buried her face in his shoulder, too nervous to watch. He stared out the window as the jet's wheels touched down easily on the runway of a private airfield, rolling to a smooth stop moments later.

They applauded the pilot's flawless landing and, standing and stretching, prepared to disembark. Determined to find out what was going on, Jay slipped away from Kim's side to where Will stood at the back of the plane, checking that his .9 millimeter was safely holstered on his hip.

"Hi, Jay." Kate smiled in greeting as she tucked a paper into her purse. She seemed, Jay thought, rather distracted. To Will, she said, "I'll see you out there, then."

Will nodded and turned to Jay. "What's up?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you," Jay replied, too quietly to be overheard. The last thing he wanted was to frighten Kim.

"What do you mean?"

Will's guardedness only served to enhance Jay's agitation. Impatiently, he snapped, "C'mon, Will. You and Kate have been back here with your heads together for three hours, and you were closeted away together all night. Plus, I can tell you're worried about something. So what's going on? Are we in some kind of trouble?"

Taking Jay's arm, Will guided him toward the front of the plane, where the others were waiting for the flight attendant to open the door. "Nothing's wrong," he assured Jay. "But I have made a …a decision that I need to talk to you and Tyler about – "

Whatever Will had been about to say was lost in the sudden, deafening roar of an explosion.

Instinctively, Jay dropped to the ground. He felt Will fall across him, shielding him. The moment seemed to drag on forever; Jay's only thought was for Kim, whether or not she was all right. As the noise died away, Will rolled off Jay, who immediately sprang to his feet.

Expecting to see smoke and flames when he lifted his head, Jay was relieved to find the cabin clear and untouched.

"Jay!"

Kim's voice from the front of the plane, just a few feet away, was taut with horror. Jumping to his feet, Jay saw her, Marlow, Thad and Tyler clustered around the now-open door, their eyes fixed on something outside he could not see.

Face drained of color, Kim looked back at her husband. "The other plane," she cried, her throat catching on a sob. "It just – it just blew up as it landed!"

The Fourth Branch. It had to be; nothing else made sense. And if they had blown up the plane carrying the prisoners, what was to stop them from blowing up the one carrying the witnesses?

Undoubtedly reaching the same conclusion, Will yelled, "Get off! Get off the plane and get clear, now! Move!"

Everyone rushed for the door at once. Jay started toward Kim, who held out her arms for him. All around them, guns were being drawn – Stone's, Marlow's, Kate's, Nell's, Will's. Outside, Jay could hear panicked cries and approaching sirens.

Grasping Kim's hand, he pulled her out the door and onto the stairs leading down to the tarmac, determined to get her to safety. Thad was directly in front of them, hurrying down the steps a short ways behind Tyler and Nell, who were running pell-mell toward the nearby hangar where Marlow and Stone already waited.

Jay never saw the sniper. He never knew a shot had been fired, in fact, until a spray of thick, hot blood caught him full in the face.

Kim screamed. As if in slow motion, Jay watched Thad's body crumple, his head pitching forward as he toppled down the stairs. He landed face-first on the pavement and lay motionless, blood pooling around him.

Will was on top of them before Jay could react. Knocking Jay back inside the plane with one hand, he pushed Kim – who was already on the second step – to her knees, firing over the top of her head at a position some distance away.

"We've got to move," Will called over his shoulder to Jay, who was being restrained by Kate. "I'll get Kim clear. Kate, you guys come right behind us, okay?"

_How is this possible? How can we be under attack with the FBI, NSA, CIA and Secret Service protecting us?_

_Because these people are the FBI and the NSA and every other government agency you can think of, _a tiny voice inside Jay's throbbing head answered.

Kate held firmly to Jay's arm, keeping him inside the plane, while Will, putting himself between Kim and danger as much as possible, tore down the stairs and raced across the tarmac. With overwhelming relief, Jay watched them disappear inside the hangar.

In the last two minutes, the runway had become a shooting gallery as Branch mercenaries emerged from buildings and vehicles all around them. They positioned themselves between the flaming wreckage and the intact plane, spraying the hangar with an endless barrage of bullets. To reach safety, Jay and Kate would have to sprint across a daunting stretch of open ground that lay directly in the crossfire of the Branch mercenaries and their friends inside the hangar.

Knowing the plane they were in could explode at any second gave Jay the proper motivation to try for it, however.

"Ready?" Kate lifted her gun as Jay nodded curtly. She instructed tersely, "Stay close and keep your head down. Don't stop running until you're inside, even if I go down. Got it?"

Jay nodded.

He thought his feet couldn't have touched the ground, he ran so fast. Leaping over Thad's body, Jay felt his stomach churn with a mixture of anger, sorrow and fear. It wasn't fair – they had done their part, they were supposed to be safe, protected…

Sliding on one knee into the hangar's cool, dim interior, Jay immediately cast around for Kim. He spotted her behind a large wooden crate near the opposite door, Will kneeling beside her, reloading.

Their eyes locked across the room. _Love you, _she mouthed. Jay responded in kind.

Having seen that his wife was as safe as could be expected, Jay took stock of their current circumstances. He and Kate had taken cover behind a solid metal toolbox in the center of the room; Marlow was positioned beside the doors that opened onto the tarmac, protected by the outer wall; Stone and Nell were literally holding Tyler down to keep him running out to where his brother's body lay in a pool of blood, but aside from the struggle, they appeared to be relatively safe behind a crate similar to the one Will and Kim were using for cover.

Smoke from burning jet fuel stung Jay's eyes as he peeked around the toolbox. He could see probably a dozen heavily-armed, black-garbed men slowly encroaching on the hangar, peppering the building with bullets as they did so. He wasn't sure how long their small band could hold them off.

Where the hell was Kensington? Jay wanted to shout at the rafters. Had this all been a set-up from the start? He couldn't fathom the twists and turns of his enemies' minds; he could no longer decipher truth from lies, tell friend from foe. It was like being caught in a maelstrom, whirling and whirling around in the darkness with no way to grab a handhold, no way to put his feet back on solid ground.

Jay suddenly recalled one of the first pieces of advice Will had given him and Tyler following Freed's death: _"Don't trust anybody but each other." _If only they had held to that, Jay wondered desperately, would they be any safer now, or would they already be dead?

Feeling terribly vulnerable – not to mention utterly useless – without a weapon, Jay turned to Kate, who was pausing to reload. "Give me a gun," he insisted, knowing she, like Will, would carry more than one weapon.

"Don't do anything stupid," Kate warned, pulling a .9 millimeter from her ankle holster and tossing it and an extra clip to him. "I mean it, Jay. Don't be a hero."

Before he could answer, the sirens they had heard in the distance minutes ago suddenly drew quite close. Peering out from his hiding place just far enough to squeeze off a few rounds, Jay saw dozens of police cruisers and unmarked sedans – which he sincerely hoped were NSA or Secret Service or FBI vehicles, given the level of firepower they were facing – racing up the runway behind the mercenaries' positions.

Hope swelled in Jay's chest. If they could hold on for a few minutes more, help was on the way…

But it seemed the Fourth Branch had prepared for every contingency – including defeat. Over the next several minutes, Jay watched his worst nightmare come true.

Just as Marlow triumphantly shouted that their enemies were falling back, the sound of screeching tires drew Jay's attention to the opposite end of the hangar. One of the Branch's trademark white vans, identical to the one Will had been forced into at the Deer Harbor train depot, careened into the hangar, turning sharply as it squealed to a stop so that its broad side faced into the building.

Immediately, the van's side door slid open and a hail of bullets issued from within. Caught between the death-squad to their left and the new assailants to their right, Jay and the others dove for cover, pressing themselves flat on the ground as bullets clanged off the walls and floor around them.

_Kim. I have to get to Kim…_

Ignoring the peril, Jay began belly-crawling forward, lifting his head slightly to see where Kim and Will were hiding. They were the two nearest to the van, Will having drug Kim as far away from the initial danger as possible, and they were taking the worst of the relentless gunfire.

Jay heard Kate yelling for him to come back, but his eyes were locked on his wife, whose back was pressed against the wooden crate. Will had placed himself in front of her as a shield, but they couldn't hold out for long – bullets were chipping away the wood of the crate as Jay drug himself forward.

"Traveler, watch out!"

Marlow's cry brought Jay's head up off the floor high enough to make him a viable target. Military training kicking in, he rolled to the side as a rain of bullets descended on the spot where he had just lain. As he did so, Jay saw what had made Marlow call out, and his heart seized up in his chest.

Two thick-necked, barrel-chested men had stepped from the back of the van and were hauling Will roughly to his feet, one of them having managed to kick the gun out of Will's hand. Despite having the advantage of size and weight – and, Jay reflected angrily, no injuries from a recent bout of torture – it took both of them to handle Will as he wrestled free; immediately on the attack, he landed fierce kicks and punches while deftly sidestepping his would-be captors' blows.

But with Will preoccupied with fighting for his life, Kim was fair game.

Ducking the bullets Jay, Kate, Marlow, Stone and Nell aimed in his direction, a third man leapt from the back of the van and darted over to Kim. He caught her by the arm and began dragging her toward the van; they were forced to stop firing then for fear of accidentally hitting Kim. And not one of them could get to her with the shooters inside the van holding them at bay.

_Come on, baby, fight…_

Jay nerved himself to bolt forward. He knew his chances of reaching Kim without being cut down by the Branch's bullets were miniscule, but he also knew he had to try – he couldn't stand by and do nothing while his wife was captured.

Kim was fighting, biting and clawing and kicking for all she was worth. All it took was one blow to her face, however, for her head to snap back and her body to fall lifelessly into her captor's grip.

A roar of primal rage tore out of Jay. Every thought blotted from his mind but that of reaching Kim, of pulling her attacker apart with his bare hands, he sprang toward the man holding his wife –

– and hit the floor with an agonizing thud as Kate tackled him from behind.

Jay reacted instinctively: He kicked her, hard. Undaunted, Kate clubbed him over the head with the handle of her gun, dazing him.

"No heroics, Jay – let us handle this," she barked.

Eyes watering from the blow to his temple, Jay looked up to see Will bashing the only one of his opponents left standing full in the face hard enough to shatter bone. The bigger man stumbled; Will did not wait to see him fall but leapt forward, diving into the van via the open back door, through which Kim had just disappeared.

Marlow and Stone were sprinting toward the vehicle as the side door slammed shut, blocking from view Will's furious assault on the half-dozen men inside. Jay's heart jumped into his throat: They were going to make it, they were going to get to Kim. Will was with her, fighting like hell, and Marlow was halfway around the driver's side firing nonstop at whoever was behind the wheel, and Stone was tugging at the side door, trying to wrench it open so he could leap inside to help Will…

In the next instant, all hope was lost.

A volley of gunshots rang out from behind them, where the few mercenaries who had not yet fled or fallen had finally made their way inside the hangar. Jay saw Stone fall sideways, howling in pain and clutching his leg. Much closer to the gunmen, Marlow took the brunt of their assault; she pitched forward, too stunned to even call out, as their bullets slammed home into her chest.

The driver of the van, no doubt seeing his chance, jammed down on the accelerator. Before Jay could move, before he could so much as drag breath into his lungs to scream, the van had peeled away, with Will and Kim inside.

"NO!"

The cry that issued from Jay's mouth seemed to come from someone else. He lay, frozen, while Nell and the officers who had joined in the battle from outside subdued their remaining assailants. Kate, he realized, had not moved from his side, where she knelt with a restraining hand still on his shoulder.

Overcome by a surge of fury, Jay turned on her, prepared to pummel her for interfering. The stricken expression on her face caused the hateful words he wanted to hurl at her to die in his throat, however. All at once, it hit him that in preventing him from reaching his wife, Kate had also foregone rescuing Will – she had chosen instead to protect Jay.

"Why?" was all he could manage, his voice breaking as the horror of it all, of what could happen to his wife and his best friend while in the Branch's hands, set in.

"He made me promise. He made me and Nell each promise him we would protect you and Tyler, no matter what."

Kate's voice sounded flat, dead almost. She seemed to be watching without seeing the flurry of activity around them: paramedics kneeling by Stone and Marlow, Tyler running out to his brother, NSA and Secret Service agents and local law enforcement securing the scene with guns still drawn, as if expecting another assault.

"But why?" Jay couldn't accept Will's choice that he and Tyler should be the ones who were saved, regardless of the others' fates. Surely Will knew that without Kim, Jay wouldn't want to live.

"Because you and Tyler are the ones who can end this, Jay."

Kate stood and gazed down at him, her voice and eyes coming back to life as grim determination seemed to set in. "Yesterday, President Shears made you and Tyler the public face of this war. He displayed you to the country as evidence of what the Branch is capable of. As long as you're alive, people are going to listen to you, and discrediting you will be almost impossible.

"As long as you're alive, Jay," Kate concluded, "the Branch still has a reason to be afraid. And that means all of us – even Will and Kim – still have a chance."

**Part 2**

Blindfolded, Will allowed himself to be led along by the elbow, though what he really wanted to do was kick his guide's feet out from under him and stomp on his face. With his hands bound securely behind his back and a gun pressed to his temple, however, he wasn't in much of a position to fight back.

Behind him, Will could hear Kim shuffling along. Her fear was palpable, but he was proud of her for the remarkable grit she had demonstrated thus far, refusing to break down and cry as he knew she must have wanted to.

Will had no idea where they were, only that it couldn't be too far from the airfield because they had not driven for long. Shortly into the ride, the six men in the back of the van had managed to (literally) beat Will to the floor and slap a pair of plastic handcuffs on him, nearly dislocating his shoulders in the process. At the time, Kim had still been semi-conscious from the blow she had taken to the face. They had lain side-by-side, facedown on the floor of the van for the duration of the trip, Will worrying with every bump what the jostling might mean for her early pregnancy.

His training with Hometown had taught Will to compensate when one of his senses, like sight, was impaired. So as his captors led him forward, he turned his thoughts from worrying about Kim to discerning whatever he could about their location; such information would be vital to any escape attempt.

A certain pressure on his eardrums told Will they were below ground, in all likelihood the basement of a home or office. Judging from how far they had walked and the ringing of their captors' boots on concrete, he was leaning more toward an office building than a home. The air on his bare arms was damp and chill, suggesting they might be near the river, though in D.C. that didn't mean much – the Potomac ran through the heart of the city.

_So we're underneath a big building somewhere in D.C. Boy, that really narrows it down…_

Will mentally berated himself for not insisting that they all wear tracking devices. Then he recalled how the Branch had cut the tracker Franklin had tagged him with from his ankle and decided to let himself off the hook: That was not an experience he cared to relive, or to see Kim subjected to.

Anyway, for them to be tracked, someone had to be around to track them. Will didn't know if anyone – Jay, Tyler, Kate, Marlow, Stone or Nell – had survived the assault on the hangar; he was fairly certain Thad Fog hadn't. And he had to assume that Shears or Kensington or Dawson or someone else supposedly on their side had sold them out. If either of those things were true, tracking devices would have been useless anyway.

Once again, he was on his own, at the mercy of the Branch. What was worse, this time they had the ultimate bargaining chip – his best friend's pregnant wife. Whatever they demanded of him, Will knew he would have to do it if they threatened Kim. He couldn't be responsible for her death. He couldn't live with that. He would make them kill him first.

Abruptly, the goon holding his elbow jerked Will to the right and shoved him forward. Will barely managed to stay on his feet, though it hardly mattered since in the next instant he was slammed back into a chair with such force that he suspected his broken ribs cracked a little further.

_If I was one-hundred percent, you fuckers would all be dead._

The blindfold came off without warning, leaving Will blinking in the sudden glare. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that the small, cell-like room was actually quite dim; it was only the total blackout of being blindfolded for twenty minutes that had given him the initial impression of brightness.

Kim sat in a straight-backed chair directly across from him, her blindfold gone but her wrists, like his, tied behind her back. Will caught her eye as their guards stepped to the side. He tried to silently convey a message of comfort: _Be strong, I'll get us through this._

She gave an almost imperceptible nod to show that she understood.

The door through which they had just been pushed creaked open, allowing Will a glimpse of a well-lit, brown-hued corridor before it fell shut. Shifting his attention to the newcomer, Will felt his stomach tighten with dread.

Maxwell Abrams.

"How?" Kim sputtered, which was what Will felt like doing. Her jaw dropped open in shocked disbelief. "But-but you were…You were arrested!"

Abrams smiled thinly at Kim. Recalling the man's callousness during his previous time in captivity, Will fought off a wave of panic. Maxwell Abrams was not a man to be trifled with on a good day. Pissed-off and publicly-humiliated, there was no telling what he might do to them.

Eager to take Abrams' focus off of Kim, Will piped up with as much sarcasm as he could muster, "Thought you'd been shipped off to a military base in Maryland, Max. Funny how snakes always manage to slither free."

"Don't be silly, Mr. Traveler. I never so much as saw the inside of a jail cell." Abrams' cold gray eyes bored into Will's. "I would think you'd have learned enough about my organization by now to know that my imprisonment was never a possibility."

_My organization? Not arrogant, are we?_

Will wished he could wipe the smug grin off Abram's face. As it was, he kept his own smirk firmly in place while the other man knelt in front of him, careful not to crease his Armani suit.

Appraising Will's numerous cuts and bruises, Abrams clucked his tongue softly. "You're a very handsome boy, do you know that?" He ran a fingertip down Will's cheek, causing Will to fight off a shudder. "It's a shame we have to do things this way. But the messes you keep making," his voice dropped to a low, menacing growl, "those call for special punishments, Mr. Traveler."

Kim made a small sound of either protest or fear. Will cut his eyes to her, warning her to stay quiet. Threats weren't going to hurt either of them, so he saw no need to panic over Abrams' (admittedly chilling) words.

_But you touch me, you sick fuck, and I will kill you._

"Mrs. Burchell, isn't it?" Abrams stood and walked over to Kim, who glared up wordlessly at him. "I'm told you're in a delicate condition, my dear." Turning back to Will, he mused, "How old do you suppose a fetus has to be before it can feel pain? Or do you think it feels whatever the mother does, no matter what its age?"

"What do you want, Abrams?" Will kept his voice steady, though inwardly he was shaking. He would much prefer to have Abrams' disgusting attention on him than on Kim, who had paled to a frightening bone-white at his words.

Abrams seemed pleased by Will's reaction, suggesting that he had succeeded in confirming his theory that Will would protect Kim at all costs. Pacing behind Will, who hated not being able to see what was coming, Abrams began to tick off his demands.

"What my compatriots and I want, Mr. Traveler, is to be allowed to continue our work without interference from you or your friends or the traitors in our own ranks."

Maybe Kensington hadn't set them up after all, Will reflected. Not that his loyalty did them much good now, but it was nice for Will to know he hadn't been a complete fool.

"Our esteemed president," Abrams continued, his condescending tone making plain what he really thought of Shears, "has put us in a difficult spot for making that possible, I'm afraid. I admit, I never took him for the dramatic type. Quite clever, really, to come after us in the open.

"But now that our sins are on display, so to speak, the only way for my friends and I to clear our good names and return to the shadows, where we work most effectively, is for us to outdo our president's little stunt with one of our own. One that will be even more spectacular than declaring the innocence of two suspected terrorists on live television. One that can leave no doubt in anyone's minds about the absurdity of the accusations the president has made against my friends and I."

Dryly, Will rejoined, "So the Branch wants a two-for-one: get-out-of-jail-free cards for guys like you who are too important just to blow up – " Abrams actually chuckled at that, turning Will's stomach " – and a way to destroy the president's credibility by making him out to be a gullible idiot."

Lips next to Will's ear, Abrams murmured, "You catch on quick, Mr. Traveler."

"So how do I fit into all of this?"

Abrams placed his hands gently on Will's shoulders. Stiffening, Will refused to flinch away, though the licentiousness in the older man's touch made his skin crawl.

"What we want, Mr. Traveler, is for the world to know that the president was deceived by an extremely dangerous organization, a terrorist cell made up of America's own citizens – the People's Militia."

_Here we go again…_

"You can't honestly expect people to believe that Jay and Tyler are terrorists," Will argued, unable to hide his frustration at finding himself right back where he had started – being asked to frame his best friends for terrorism. "Not after they got on stage and shook hands with the president. I hate to break it to you, Max, but terrorists tend not to make live TV appearances with the leader of the free world."

"Oh, you're quite right on that point," Abrams agreed easily. His thumb brushed Will's earlobe, and it took a supreme effort for Will not to shove his chair backwards into the man; only the presence of the two guards in the room, who would have been on him in a second to mangle him into a bloody pulp had he made such a bold move, kept him still.

"Mr. Burchell and Mr. Fog must be portrayed as innocent victims in all of this. And after all, my dear boy, isn't that what they are? The victims of their roommate, a man who called himself 'Will Traveler,' even though no such person exists? A man who insinuated himself into their lives with a pack of lies? A man who attempted to place the blame for the Drexler Museum bombing on their shoulders?"

Sick realization settled over Will. "You want me to cop to this," he clarified dully. "You want me to back up everything you're saying."

Finally removing his hands from Will's shoulders, Abrams walked over to stand behind Kim. Though he didn't touch her, the message in his eyes as he caught and held Will's gaze was ominously clear: Do what we want, or she suffers for it.

"A full, taped confession should go a long way in helping us prove our innocence," Abrams noted, his mouth curving into a cruel smile. "But that's only part of your penance, you see, because that in and of itself is only mildly convincing.

"What we want most from you, Mr. Traveler, is a very bold, very public act of terror. Something no one can question your culpability for. Something that will put you down in history as the worst traitor this country has ever seen."

From his inside jacket pocket, Abrams produced a slender black case, one that looked horribly familiar to Will. He turned it over in his slender fingers to display the Belenus Pharmaceuticals logo emblazoned on the side, which stared at Will like a monstrous eye.

Morbus.

_They want me to open Pandora's Box._

"That can't be." Kim's horror seemed to overcome her fear; she twisted around to look at Abrams, then cast her eyes desperately to Will. "Will gave that to Kensington, didn't you, Will? Jay told me it's in evidence at Quantico. It's safe."

"You just don't get it, do you?" Abrams sneered at both of them, looking like the devil he was with his face half in shadow, a wicked light gleaming in his eyes. "The Fourth Branch _is _your government. There isn't anyone or anything we can't get to."

Rebelliously, Will thought, _That isn't true. You wouldn't get very far if the people of this country knew what you were doing, because they'd stand up and take their government back._

But Will wasn't a soldier at the moment. He was just a man, quite young really, bound and helpless and facing the impossible decision of condemning an innocent woman – a woman he loved as dearly as a sister – and her unborn children to a slow, agonizing demise, or condemning hundreds of thousands of equally innocent people to their own gruesome deaths.

In his mind's eye, Will pictured Maya on the beach of his dream, walking toward him with the sunlight playing across her golden hair. _"You're the one that I love," _she was telling him. And Maya would only love a good man, a kind man, a strong man.

On the heels of those thoughts, Will pictured Jay, looking into his eyes in the rearview mirror, insisting, _"What if we all know you better than you think we do, and we don't see this monster that you see in yourself?" _And Jay would only respect a soldier, a brother, a patriot.

Will couldn't let them down.

"I'll do it."

"No, Will!" Kim cried, staring at him aghast. "You can't, not because of me – "

"I want you to let her go." Will spoke over Kim's words, silently imploring Abrams, who was standing by with a victorious smile, to grant this request. "Please. I want you to release her, now, and then I'll do whatever you want. Anything."

Slowly, Abrams shook his head. "You're not making demands today, Mr. Traveler."

Seeing his last best hope for a way out slipping through his fingers, Will pressed, "Then how do I know you won't just kill her anyway, once I've done what you want?"

_Like you did Maya, _he added silently.

"You don't. But you know exactly what will happen to her if you refuse to cooperate."

Will knew he was defeated: He could not watch them torture Kim; he could not listen to her die, as he had Maya. He shut his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest, steeling himself for what would come next, for what he would have to do.

Ignoring Kim's pleas for him to forget about her, to think of all the lives he would be destroying, Will placidly allowed Abrams to pull him to his feet and lead him to the door. Pausing there, Will looked back into Kim's tear-streaked face.

He echoed words he had said to her weeks earlier, fleeing New York after rescuing her from Chambers' agents. He could only hope she would understand the message he could not speak aloud: "You have every right to hate me, Kim, but you have to trust me right now."

Will saw a spark of comprehension in her eyes. Growing calm, she echoed her own words from that night, "I do trust you, Will."

He offered her a final, parting smile. "No matter what happens, don't forget that."

**Part 3**

Seated in a private surgical waiting room at Georgetown University Hospital, Tyler gripped Nell's hand and prepared for the worst when a weary-looking surgeon finally pushed open the door.

_Please, please don't let him be dead…_

"Mr. Fog?" the surgeon queried Tyler, who nodded. "I'm Dr. Borkowski," the gray-haired man went on, settling his lanky frame onto the sofa across from Tyler and Nell, the room's sole occupants. "I'm one of the doctors who operated on your brother."

"Is he…?" Tyler choked on the words.

"Your brother is doing well."

It was as if the air had been sucked out of Tyler's lungs and forced back in: He struggled for breath for one light-headed moment as a wave of intense joy washed over him. Thad was alive – his little brother was alive!

Dr. Borkowski was saying, "Right now, we have him listed as 'critical but stable,' though once we finish the blood transfusion I think we'll be able to upgrade his condition to just 'stable.'"

"So he's going to be okay?" Nell sounded like she was afraid to believe she was hearing what they seemed to be hearing – good news, on a day when that was in short supply.

"He's got some recovery time ahead," Dr. Borkowski cautioned, though his tone remained optimistic. "As the ER attending told you, the bullet entered underneath Thad's right clavicle and continued downward at an angle, luckily missing major arteries and organs before lodging in his hip bone. But he lost a lot of blood, which did put quite a bit of stress on his heart and kidneys. I've removed the bullet and fixed the vascular damage that was done. Now, he needs to finish his blood transfusion, stay on IV antibiotics for a few days to prevent infection, and rest for a couple of weeks. But yes," the doctor concluded, apparently satisfied that he had given them a realistic view of Thad's prognosis, "I think it's safe to say that Thad will make a full recovery."

"When can I see him?" Tyler asked.

"He should be back in the ICU in the next few hours. For right now, he's in recovery, and he needs to sleep," the doctor answered. "I'll have a nurse come get you when he's moved."

Nell threw her arms around Tyler's neck in a celebratory hug the instant the doctor left the room. Clinging to him, she burst out, "I'm so sorry I couldn't do more. I wanted to go back for him, Tyler, I swear, but Will – "

"Will made you promise to protect me, no matter what," Tyler finished for her. Seeing the surprise on her pretty face as she settled back, he explained, "Jay told me on the way here, while you were talking to Kate."

"And you're not mad?"

A vivid memory of armed men storming the airplane hangar formed in Tyler's mind. How could he be mad at Nell for saving his life? How could he be mad at her for not charging to certain death to drag his brother to safety? How could he be mad at her – or Will, for that matter – for doing everything possible to protect him?

"There was nothing anyone could have done, Nell," Tyler tabled, cupping her chin in his hand so he could look directly into her eyes. "It was a battle. You did your job, and you saved my life, and Thad is going to be fine, so don't blame yourself. None of this is your fault."

A light tap on the waiting room door interrupted Nell's reply. Sticking her head in, Kate – who looked pale and care-worn – said, "I'm sorry to bother you, but Kensington's downstairs, and he needs all of us to come with him."

_Five hours later, the man himself shows up. Where the hell was he while we were being shot like rats in a barrel?_

"I'm not leaving the hospital," Tyler protested. Nell was already on her feet. "Not while Thad's barely out of surgery."

"I understand. But he thinks they've located Will and Kim, and I thought you might want to come along."

Tyler was torn. Nell, sensing this, suggested, "We can tell the nurses to call you if anything changes about Thad's condition. You know you want to be in on this, Tyler. You'll go crazy sitting here, not knowing what's happening."

In the end, Tyler acquiesced, though he told the nurses a half-dozen times to let Thad know why he wasn't there if his brother woke up before they returned. Nell reassured him at least that many times that she would get him back to the hospital in a flash if Thad for any reason worsened.

Kate led them to the elevators, where armed Secret Service agents rode with them to the lobby. "How's Stone?" Nell asked once the doors slid shut.

"Still in surgery. The bullet was a ricochet, but it nearly took his kneecap off. He may lose that leg."

Kate sounded bitter, and Tyler couldn't blame her. Stone had done so much for them. Although he seemed assured of survival, it was horribly unfair for him to be maimed for life.

None of them mentioned Marlow. As paramedics were rushing Thad and Stone into waiting ambulances, Tyler had watched two other EMTs gently cover Marlow's lifeless body with a black sheet. She had died instantly, Nell had told Tyler when he'd asked during Thad's four-hour-long surgery. Ten bullets to the chest – she never stood a chance.

In the lobby, Kate directed them out the front doors to a waiting black van, where Kensington, Jay, Walczak and Senator Dawson were already seated. Tyler sat down by Jay, with Nell beside him; Kate took the seat on the other side of Jay, directly behind the driver. Rather pointedly, Tyler thought, it was now the four of them stonily facing the Fourth Branch, seated in a row on the opposite side.

The van pulled away from the curb. Kensington began, "The first thing I want to say, Mr. Burchell, Mr. Fog, is that we are deeply, profoundly ashamed of failing in our duty to protect you and your families."

"Where the hell were you?" Jay, whose eyes were red-rimmed, seemed unable to control his temper. Tyler made no move to reproach his friend; if Jay decided to punch Kensington out, Tyler thought he was justified.

"On my way to meet your plane, I received two highly disturbing pieces of information," Kensington replied. He, too, appeared to find Jay's anger reasonable, for he didn't look in the least offended by the outburst. "The first was that Dr. Breanna Murden disappeared from federal witness protection in Charleston early this morning. From the state of the safehouse, it would appear that she was taken against her will. All of the NSA operatives guarding her were gunned down.

"The second piece of news was that the sample of Morbus Agent Westbrook and Mr. Traveler obtained has gone missing from the FBI lab at Quantico."

A stunned silence fell over Tyler and his friends. Heart racing, Tyler put together a picture of the disaster that was taking shape: Dr. Murden knew how to make the antidote for Morbus; now, it seemed their enemies in the Branch had control of both the disease and its cure.

"You think they're planning an attack," he found his voice to say.

Nell discreetly slipped her fingers into his. Feeling the tremor in her hand, Tyler scooted closer to her, trying to comfort her in spite of his own terror.

"I don't understand." Jay pushed a hand through his dark curls, looking as weary of threats and plots as Tyler felt. "If they have Morbus and they have a way to make the cure, what would they need Will and Kim for? Why didn't they just blow up our plane, too, get rid of us and Chambers and the Buchanans and Drummond all at once so they can get on with their plans?"

Senator Dawson, her refined Southern drawl reflecting the utmost sympathy for Jay's situation, answered, "We believe the idea is to discredit the evidence the president has presented against the Branch members in custody. You see, Mr. Burchell, the people we are fighting don't just make chaos for the sake of chaos; they aren't true terrorists in that regard. They have a master plan: controlling this government and this economy through carefully-choreographed acts of violence and destruction. To achieve that control, they must also control public perception. And right now, the public perceives _them _as the enemy.

"I am convinced, and I think Andrew and Anita are as well," the senator went on, "that our enemies wanted Mr. Traveler alive because they now intend for him to assume the role you two can no longer play – as the person ultimately responsible for the crimes with which they have been charged, and the even greater crime they may intend to commit."

It all made a horrible kind of sense, Tyler realized, especially when he remembered how, during their last conversation, his father had warned him never to think he could outmaneuver the Branch through trickery. "Direct confrontation, son, that's the only thing that will work against these people," Carlton had insisted, folding one of Tyler's hands between both of his. "They thrive on deception and disguise. They will out-think you at every turn if you go that route. But if you speak the truth, loudly and fearlessly, if you step out of the shadows, they won't know what to do."

_They can't conceive of anyone being willing to risk exposing the truth, because they've hidden behind lies so long they think that's how everyone protects themselves…_

While the van continued on toward an undisclosed location (Tyler sincerely hoped it was wherever Kim and Will were being kept, so they could rescue them), the others discussed how Will could be made to confess to a bioterrorist attack in order to protect Kim and how the Branch could spin that tragedy to clear their names. Tyler only half-listened. He was mentally scrolling back through every decision he, Jay and Will had made while trying to sort out this mess. And although he was proud of their ability to stay alive and one step ahead of their pursuers for the last two months, he couldn't shake the conviction that their first plan had been the best one: to expose Freed and the Fourth Branch, with no other evidence than a (forged, as it turned out) painting to support their story, believing that the truth would set them free.

Tyler was convinced of this partly because of what his father had said but also because he knew that Jack Freed had been frightened in the back of that limousine. Not of death – of exposure. Tyler had heard it in the man's voice when he had asked Will to let him go.

Freed had chosen to blow himself to bits rather than be the one to reveal the Branch's existence to the world. Such a supreme act of self-sacrifice had to mean that the truth – the whole truth, not doctored evidence or backroom deals – was the most powerful weapon they could employ against the Branch.

As Tyler came fully back to the present, Kate was asking, "You said we had a possible location on Will and Kim. Is that where we're going?"

"It is, and we're nearly there." Kensington pulled a manila folder from the briefcase at his feet and passed a series of glossy black-and-white photos across to them. One set showed aerial views of a large estate somewhere in the countryside; the other showed a high-rise office building not far from Capitol Hill.

"We narrowed it down to these two locales. The Branch controls both facilities," Kensington explained. "We decided to operate on the assumption that Abrams wouldn't risk transporting his prisoners very far, being a fugitive himself at the moment. The estate you see belongs to Representative Donald Beaufort, a long-time friend of Abrams' and a lifetime Branch member. It's about an hour from here, in Maryland. The office building is the D.C. division of Fallbrook Dunn, Abrams' company."

Jay shook his head. "No way. Wouldn't that be too obvious?"

"Unless he wanted to hide in plain sight," Nell observed. "Plus, it probably has more security than some country estate, and since it's contained, it would be easier to protect than a big, sprawling stretch of land."

_She sounds like Will, _Tyler thought. A stab of white-hot fear for his friend cut through him then. Will was already hurt. How much more abuse could he take, if Abrams decided to beat a so-called confession out of him?

Kensington was nodding approvingly at Nell. "That was my conclusion as well, and that's where we're headed. I asked you all to come along because right now, a tactical team of NSA, FBI, and Secret Service agents are assembling to storm the Fallbrook Dunn facility. I've sent another team to the Beaufort estate, but Director Walczak and I intend to lead the team into Fallbrook Dunn, because that's where we expect to find the prisoners and Abrams and the bioweapon."

Kate and Nell both stared incredulously at Kensington. "You're going in openly?" Kate sounded as though she thought she must have misheard. "In the middle of the city?"

The grim expression on Kensington's face was mirrored on Senator Dawson's and Walczak's. "Maxwell Abrams has in his possession a biological weapon that could bring this country to its knees," he replied gravely. "The mission of the Fourth Branch has always been to protect the nation and her people, at all costs. We cannot risk allowing Abrams to release this disease just to conceal ourselves."

"If the Fourth Branch is exposed, it's exposed," Dawson interjected, shrugging her slender shoulders. "This threat is far too great. It must supersede all other concerns."

Inwardly, Tyler cheered: They were finally catching on, and they might stand a real chance if they were willing to fight the Branch in the open. In the next second, however, his heart dropped into his stomach as the full meaning behind the senator's words sunk in.

The van had come to a stop. Through the passenger's side window, Tyler glimpsed men and women in bullet-proof vests and military-style helmets loading assault weapons and hefting plastic riot shields. They had arrived outside of Fallbrook Dunn's D.C. offices, which would soon be the site of another major skirmish between the good guys and the bad guys, Tyler realized.

_That building is about to become a battleground – and our friends are in there…_

"And Will and Kim?" he forced himself to ask, afraid he already knew the answer. Beside him, Jay sat up a little straighter. "What happens to them when you storm this building?"

Unflinchingly, Kensington met Tyler's gaze, then Jay's. "We will do everything we can to ensure the safety of Mrs. Burchell and Mr. Traveler. But this is not primarily a rescue mission, I must be blunt with you about that. Our objective is to secure the biological weapon. And," he confessed heavily, as if the gravity of his decision were weighing down his powerful shoulders, "it is possible that we may not be able to do that and save the hostages."

No one spoke for a long moment. Tyler was caught between fury and despair: Fury at the diabolical people who, for a little more power and money, were willing to destroy anyone or anything; despair at the prospect of losing two of his dearest friends and watching Jay suffer a loss a thousand times greater than his own.

Finally, Jay turned to Kate. "I know what Kim would want. She would want me to save as many people as I could. I think that's what Will would want, too, don't you?"

In reply, Kate looked to Kensington and extended her upturned palm. He produced a sheet of paper from his briefcase, which Kate took and handed first to Jay, then to Tyler.

While he didn't grasp all of the legal jargon, as Tyler read through the paper he understood enough to glean that this was Will's pardon agreement. Unlike theirs, Will's had come with a condition, however: He had to agree to work for Kensington until such time as the Justice Department considered his "debt to society" fulfilled.

It was like agreeing to a life-long prison sentence – without the bars. Yet there at the bottom, clear and unmistakable, was Will's signature, though instead of "Will Traveler" it read "Liam Michael O'Connor."

"He could have disappeared," Kate told the two friends quietly. "I think he always meant to, when this was over. But he told me this morning that if he left, he would always worry that you two weren't really safe, that the Branch would come after you sooner or later. He said he thought Maya would want him to continue this mission, to see it through, to protect you and people like her from the Branch."

Understanding dawned on Tyler. "That's what you two talked about last night. That's what you were so absorbed in this morning on the plane – whether or not Will should agree to this."

Kate nodded. "It wasn't an easy choice for him, I won't lie to you. But he made it. And I think he would stick with it now."

She glanced at the building where, they all knew, Kim and Will could be dead or dying at that very moment. Softly, she added, "Especially now."

An operative suddenly knocked on the back door and peeked in, looking slightly intimidated to be addressing the Deputy Director of the CIA, the Director of the NSA, and a senator all at once.

"I've been asked to tell you that we're ready to move on your orders, sir, ma'am," the young man said to Kensington and Walczak. "We've had unconfirmed reports that one of the hostages may have been moved, but advance recon just reported that the primary target is inside the building, and he does have the weapon."

_Primary target – they must mean Abrams. We're out of time to decide here…_

Tyler and Jay looked to one another. In his heart, Tyler knew Jay was right about Kim; she would never have chosen her own life over the lives of thousands, pregnant or not. And in their hands they held the proof of Will's final fishes – that the innocent be saved, regardless of his fate.

They had nothing left to discuss. All that was left to do was to fight.

**Part 4**

As he had always known he would, in the end, Will Traveler walked away.

It didn't happen as he had planned. He had left behind a videotaped confession in which he swore, with all of the conviction he could muster, that he was an enemy of the United States, a terrorist, responsible for the Drexler Museum bombing, the death of Jack Freed, and the explosion of the Belenus lab in Miami, during which he had stolen the ingredients for a biological weapon he now intended to unleash on the greedy, undeserving citizens of America. He had left behind his best friend's wife in the clutches of a man he knew would probably kill her the moment Will was of no more use to him. In short, he was walking away defeated.

But just because he was beaten didn't mean he was going to let the Branch win.

Shortly after he provided a "confession" Abrams was satisfied with, Will was blindfolded again and marched out of the building to a waiting van; once inside, the blindfold was removed. Will could see that dusk was falling across the city as they drove toward downtown.

The six goons guarding him did not speak to him, and Will studiously ignored them. He knew what he was supposed to do: Abrams had provided crystal-clear instructions.

_Take the phial of Morbus and get out of the van at the National Mall. Walk into the center of the crowd, preferably somewhere near a landmark like the Lincoln Memorial, and toss the deadly contents into the air._

The people around him would think it strange, no doubt, for a young man in a camouflage jacket, an old gray tee-shirt, ratty jeans and a Cubs baseball cap – the attire Abrams had provided for him, Will's own clothes being bloodied and ripped from the scrap at the hangar – to fling a bluish powder into the air. Yet Will doubted anyone would panic. It wouldn't be until the next morning, when those who breathed in the Morbus awoke with hacking coughs and high fevers, that anyone would begin to suspect that something was wrong. And in all likelihood, it wouldn't be until a few days more, when those first few infected souls had come into contact with dozens of people who had come into contact with dozens of others, that anyone would start to suspect the awful truth.

At that point, the Fourth Branch would release Will's "confession" on the Internet, and the world would know the United States was the victim of a bioterrorist attack, promulgated right under the nose of its president, who had (the world would believe) put the wrong people in jail.

Will's mission was to release the Morbus and get back in the van. Abrams swore they had no intention of killing him anytime soon; Will doubted he was supposed to take that as anything other than the promise of further torture. If he didn't come back, Abrams had reminded him, Kim would suffer his punishment in his place.

_Sick bastard. I hope Jay's the one who puts a bullet in your brain, if he's still alive…_

The van came to a sudden stop. Outside, Will could hear the murmur of voices as tourists milled around the memorials inside the National Mall. Hundreds of innocent people, visiting the nation's capitol at the end of summer, taking in the sights before their kids went back to school or their vacation time ran out, thinking themselves the luckiest people alive to live in a country free of car bombs and chemical warfare and air raids…

"You're up," the goon closest to the door informed Will. He shifted his bulk so Will could see the long-range sniper rifle at his side, adding, "I'll have this baby trained on you from that window right there, so don't try anything funny if you like your scalp attached to your head. Got it, pretty boy?"

Will considered punching the man but decided against it. He had bigger concerns. So he simply nodded and, shouldering past his captors, stepped out of the van.

The evening was balmy – too warm for a jacket, certainly. Will fingered the phial inside his pocket as he walked calmly into the throngs of sandal- and short-clad tourists, none of whom seemed to spare a second glance for a young man with a bruised face and tattered clothes. To them, Will supposed, he was just another homeless bum, wandering around the monuments hoping for a hand-out.

He found them beautiful despite their indifference. Will had always found ordinary people beautiful; it was one of the reasons he had, in his past life as Liam O'Connor, wanted to become a writer. He understood the perfection of the everyday, the beauty in simply living one's life. He had joined Hometown to protect people's right to experience that beauty.

Acutely aware of the rifle trained on the back of his head, Will continued forward. He kept a firm grip on the phial, as if to reassure himself that it was still there and, for the moment, still capped.

At the corner of the steps leading up to the Lincoln Memorial, Will spotted a grizzled old man – one who reminded him sharply of his old friend McCullough, in fact – sitting cross-legged on the ground. His clothes, a paper-thin pair of jogging pants (faded from gray to white), a dingy white tee-shirt, a greasy Yankees baseball cap and a mud-spattered black windbreaker, were even dirtier and rattier than Will's.. In front of the man was a cigar box, filled with nickels and dimes and a couple of dollar bills, which bore the small hand-printed sign: _Disabled By Your Government._

A large group of children in Catholic school uniforms were hurrying down the steps toward the homeless veteran, talking and laughing and skipping and teasing. Two harried teachers scurried behind them, scolding them for being too noisy, too hyper. Will stood perfectly still, his fingers clasped around the phial in his pocket, as they surrounded him and the old man on their way to the school bus that waited by the curb.

Perfect.

Will dropped to one knee, knowing he was, for a few precious moments, shielded from view by the gaggle of children. He whispered loudly to the old man, "Trade you hats and jackets, man?"

Through his one eye that was not covered by a cataract, the veteran glared at Will. "What for?"

"My stuff's newer and cleaner," Will shrugged. He tapped the sign, indicating that he, too, had reasons to hate the government – which he certainly did. "I haven't got any money, but I can give you what I got, man."

Desperate people rarely turned down a gift. Will had learned that from McCullough, too. Before the school children had made it to their bus, Will was sporting a new cap and a new jacket – unbeknownst to the goons who, he imagined, were beginning to panic as they realized that they had lost sight of their prey.

_I hate to break it to you, Abrams, but I'm your worst enemy – you people taught me everything I know._

Will set off through the crowd, walking slowly, the phial of Morbus now tucked in the windbreaker's pocket. He let himself enjoy the warmth of the evening as he made his way toward the Arlington Memorial Bridge, arcing over the Potomac River as it joined Arlington National Cemetery to the National Mall – the North to the South.

It had always been one of Will's favorite places in the city. A place where he could think.

As he walked, he considered what he was about to do. He supposed he had other options. For one, he could have slipped into one of the numerous parking lots surrounding the National Mall, stolen a car, and driven to CIA headquarters, where he could have demanded a meeting with Kensington. That was assuming, however, that Kensington was on his side, and after the attack at the airfield, Will wasn't sure he could assume that, the allusions Abrams had made to Kensington's disloyalty to the Branch notwithstanding.

Another possibility would have been for Will to return to the van, overpower the driver, and force him to drive him back to wherever Kim was being held – a location Will was still, thanks to the blindfolding trick, unaware of. Running such a risk of being recaptured himself, however, would depend on his conviction that Kim would still be alive when he got there. By now, the goons would have been forced to report back to Abrams that Will had escaped, and Will – though it broke his heart to think of it – was certain Abrams would waste no time in disposing of Kim once she wasn't of use to him anymore.

They hadn't hesitated to kill Maya. Like her, Kim was only valuable so long as she could be used against Will.

Had it only been his own life at stake, Will wouldn't have hesitated to go back for Kim, even if nothing but the tiniest hope for her survival had been offered. But if he was caught by Abrams' men, he knew he would never have another chance to get away. He would be forced to do their bidding. He couldn't risk that many lives on the off-chance of saving one.

Three lives, actually, but he wouldn't let himself think about the babies. He couldn't.

And, of course, he always had the option of just walking away. Stealing a car, driving to Augusta, clearing out his account, flying to the Cayman Islands and spending his days on a beach. Not the same beach or even the same island or even the same country for very long, naturally, since the Branch would never stop looking for him. Yet he did have that choice.

The bridge was relatively free of pedestrians. Darkness began to fall in earnest over the city; late-day traffic rolled steadily by across the bridge's numerous lanes – people going home from work, Will knew, or to visit loved ones in the Arlington National Cemetery, or into D.C. for a night on the town. It was Friday, he realized suddenly. Four months ago, he would have been dropping his backpack on the couch at the Castle, popping the top on a Heineken, calling upstairs to Jay and Tyler to find out what their big plans were for the weekend.

He would miss them, his roommates. His best friends. His brothers.

A warm, tangy breeze rose off of the Potomac as Will stepped up to the railing and peered over the side at the arches which lifted the bridge out of the river. He closed his eyes and let the sounds and smells of the lovely summer evening wash over him.

_"You look sad, Will."_

He smiled to himself as, in his imagination, he turned to find Maya standing beside him. She was whole and untouched, her honey-colored hair perfectly curled, her skin glowing in the streetlights that were coming on all around them.

_"I'm not sad. A little scared."_

_"It won't hurt." _

He pictured himself taking her hand as he grasped the concrete rail with one hand and hoisted himself up. He would have to act quickly now, he knew, because passing motorists who saw him would be calling 911 to report a jumper.

He imagined Maya looking out across the dark, gently-rolling waves with him. _"I never saw the Potomac, did you know that? It's beautiful."_

Yes, Maya had loved the water.

If she were here now, Will knew, he would consult her on the only remaining doubt that kept him poised on that ledge. In every other respect, he was prepared to do what had to be done, yet he couldn't stop asking himself the question that he now put to the Maya in his mind.

_"Will they understand? The others, I mean. Will they know why I had to do it?"_

_"They know Will Traveler. They'll understand."_

A weight that he had carried for six years, since the day he had joined Hometown, seemed to lift from Will's shoulders. He heard the truth of the words his imagination had put into Maya's mouth: His friends did know who he was. They knew him, as Jay had tried to tell him not long ago, better than he knew himself, and they didn't see the monster he had seen for so long. They saw a good man.

He would be that man for them now, as he had tried to be for Maya.

Slipping the phial from his pocket, Will stared down at the bluish powder separated from the world by nothing more than a thin screen of glass. He held the only remaining sample of Morbus, the Branch's most powerful weapon – for the time being, anyway. He could not trust such a thing to anyone else, ever again; he had entrusted it to Kensington once, and that had nearly been the country's undoing.

Sirens were headed his way. Will took a deep breath and placed the phial inside his mouth. Clamping his lips firmly shut, he worked the cap free with his tongue and swallowed down the bitter powder.

He was infected now. Infected with Morbus. But that was all right, because very soon, he would be beyond the Branch's reach forever, where they could never force him to hurt another innocent person.

"You there!" a voice was shouting behind him through a police bullhorn. "You on the ledge! Don't move, all right?"

Staring down at the fast-flowing river a very, very long ways beneath him, Will sent his thoughts out across the miles, past the Capitol and Baltimore and New Haven and Boston and New York, cities where so much had happened to him and his friends. He let his mind come to rest on a small pond near Deer Harbor, where Maya's ashes had by now became part of the water. In his heart, he knew that she was standing on the beach of his dream, holding out her hands to him while the endless sunshine spilled across her up-turned face.

_You're the one that I love, Maya. I'm coming home._

And with the promise of Maya's waiting arms to give him courage, Will jumped.

_Author's Note: Two more episodes left! I will post the finale in the next week or two, I promise! _


	14. Chapter 14

**Episode 14:**

"**What Dreams May Come"**

**Part 1**

No matter what Kensington said, Kate's objective when she entered the Fallbrook Dunn building was to find and rescue Will and Kim. She had a strong suspicion that the young woman at her elbow, Nell, whom she was coming to know and respect as an excellent operative and a loyal friend, felt the same way.

Jay had been forced to stay outside, although he had argued an impressive case for being allowed to accompany the tactical squad. "This is not like Miami, Mr. Burchell," Kensington had finally declared, holding up his hand to show that the discussion was over. "This is op is totally on-the-record. And I may not be afraid of the Fourth Branch, but I am not going to answer to the president for why a civilian was allowed to engage in a joint NSA/FBI/CIA raid."

Kate sympathized with Jay's desire to help rescue his wife and best friend, but ultimately, she supported Kensington's decision. Things were likely to get very, very dangerous inside that building; even highly-trained operatives would be in grave peril. They certainly didn't have the element of surprise on their side this time, she reflected dryly, since Kensington had cordoned off the streets around the building and assembled his team on the sidewalk in full view of the front windows. If Abrams or any of his cronies were inside, they knew exactly what was coming.

_Which means whichever hostage is still in there – if one of them really was moved already – may be dead before we hit the front door…_

Shoving such thoughts from her mind, Kate double-checked the straps on her bullet-proof vest, nodded curtly to Nell who stood next to her, and rushed across the street on Kensington's heels when he gave the signal for them to move.

The first skirmish took place in the building's marble-and-tile reception area. The Fourth Branch's guards were deadly, but they were facing a group of elite, heavily-armed, and – in Kate and Nell's cases – seriously pissed-off government agents. After a five-minute shoot-out, the lobby was secure. Kensington split them up into groups to secure the remaining fifteen floors, leaving a detail in the lobby in case Abrams tried to make a run for it. Other agents were stationed all around the outside of the building, where news crews and curious onlookers were gathering beyond the yellow perimeter tape.

"Your orders are to capture if you can, kill if you have to," Kensington informed his troops. As the groups scattered throughout the building, he turned to Kate, Nell, Walczak and the several other operatives assigned to him. "We're going to the basement. If I know Maxwell, I think that'll be our most likely place for finding him and the hostages."

An executive elevator located behind the reception area took them down to the basement. The elevator operated by code; Kate was thankful for Nell's presence, because the young woman proved to be a technological wizard, bypassing the elevator's security system with a few quick taps of a keypad. The mood inside the car was tense during the short descent: They all knew they might be facing a veritable firing squad the moment the doors open.

But the basement was deserted.

The long, brightly-lit corridor, painted a deep shade of brown that reminded Kate of river-mud, was eerily quiet. Silently, Kensington motioned them forward; they hurried along with weapons drawn, checking every door they passed down the seemingly endless hallway, finding them all empty. With every step they took, Kate's heart began to pound a little harder. If Abrams had already escaped, if he had taken the Morbus with him, they might never find him – and what was worse, he had most likely already disposed of his hostages, who would only hamper his getaway…

At the next-to-last door of the corridor, however, Kate pulled up, certain she had heard a noise within. Raising a hand to signal the others, she slowly turned the knob. Nell, who stood on the other side of the doorframe, prepared to sweep the room with her weapon as soon as Kate opened the door.

"Kim!" Nell cried, the instant she sprang into the doorway. She dropped her .9 millimeter to her side and rushed forward, Kate on her heels.

Kim was bound to a straight-backed chair in the center of the room, blindfolded and gagged. Kate gently eased the blindfold off and pulled the gag out of Kim's mouth, winging up a prayer of thanks as she did so that her friend appeared to be unharmed. Nell went to work with a knife taken from her ankle holster on the plastic cuffs binding Kim's wrists.

Coughing, Kim exclaimed hoarsely, "I thought you were the guard coming back."

"When did you last see a guard, Kim?" Kate inquired, chafing the other woman's wrists to help return circulation to her fingers, which were icy-cold. The cuffs, Kate thought angrily, had been far too tight for Kim's slender wrists.

"I don't know…It was hard to tell how much time passed, while I was blindfolded," Kim admitted. She sounded slightly hysterical, Kate thought, not that anyone could blame her. "I heard that man, Abrams, in the hall telling them to 'get rid of the other one,' and I knew they meant me, and this-this man came in, and he blindfolded me, and I knew he was – he was going to…So I said, I just said it, 'I'm pregnant,' and then he got this strange look on his face and put that gag in my mouth, and he must have fired his gun – I thought I was dead but I was okay, and then the door closed…"

Glancing over her shoulder, Kate saw a bullet-hole in the wall to the left of Kim's head. Silently, she said another prayer of thanks that Kim had been assigned a Branch guard with a conscience – a rare beast, indeed.

Kate helped Kim to her feet. She swayed a little, probably from exhaustion and dehydration, but managed to stay upright.

"Kim," Nell inquired, trying to be gentle but, like Kate, knowing that they needed information, "do you know where Will is?"

A look of startled horror crossed Kim's face. "He's not with you? He didn't tell you where to find me?"

Kate and Nell shared a worried look. If Kim thought Will had left the building, their intel must have been correct – one of the hostages had been moved. The question was, to where?

"We'll find him," Kate reassured Kim, who was clutching her arm tightly. "Don't worry – "

"But he has the Morbus," Kim cried. Her face drained of color as she looked from Kate to Nell. "Abrams threatened to hurt me and the babies if Will didn't release it in the city."

_Oh my God…_

"Will wouldn't do that," Kate said, hearing the conviction behind her own words and drawing strength from it. "He'll find a way out of it, Kim. He wouldn't sentence thousands of people to death."

Not comforted, Kim grasped Kate's hands, looking directly into her eyes. "You don't understand – that's what I'm afraid of," she replied, her voice rough with emotion. "He-he said goodbye to me, Kate. I think – I'm afraid he means to…"

_Oh Will. No, please, no…_

Kensington, having finished his sweep of the basement, returned to them with a look of grave concern. "No Abrams yet," he told them. "We're checking for alternate exits. I'm afraid the bastard may have slipped between our fingers once again."

"We have bigger problems," Nell informed him, and proceeded to relay what Kim had just said.

Kensington blanched, his dark skin turning rather ashen. "If the bioweapon is loose in the city…I know Traveler wouldn't want to, but he might be forced to release it," he argued against Kate's unspoken protest that Will would never, under any circumstances, willingly unleash Morbus on innocent people.

"Andrew." Walczak poked her head around the door, her expression grim. "We've got reports coming in from local law enforcement that a man matching Traveler's description just jumped off the Arlington Memorial Bridge."

_He's gone. He's really gone. Will…_

Kim shrieked and collapsed into Kate's arms, overcome by the news. Numb all over, Kate barely managed to hold the younger woman upright until Kensington could take her, lifting Kim easily in his powerful arms.

"We need to get her to a hospital," Nell insisted, her eyes bright with what Kate thought might be tears. "She needs to be checked out – she's been through God knows what in the last eight hours."

Kensington nodded. Carrying Kim into the elevators, he barked out orders to those around him: "I want a vehicle ready _now _to take Agent Westbrook, Director Walczak and myself to the Arlington Memorial Bridge. And I want search-and-rescue boats on that river in the next two minutes, is that understood?"

Agents were scrambling to fulfill orders, yelling into their radios and, as the elevator doors opened into the lobby, running forward to make sure Kensington's wishes were carried out. The Deputy Director turned to Nell, saying, "Agent Graham, you'll accompany Mrs. Burchell, her husband and Mr. Fog to the hospital – don't let them out of your sight, I mean it, not with Abrams unaccounted for."

"You got it." Nell turned to Kate as Kensington gently placed the still-unconscious Kim onto a waiting stretcher just outside the front doors. Reaching out to squeeze Kate's fingers, Nell offered kindly, "Try not to worry too much. Will can take care of himself. If anyone can get through this, it'll be him."

_Will just jumped off a bridge, _Kate wanted to say, but didn't. Instead, she managed a wan smile to let Nell know that she appreciated her words of solace before the other agent rushed after Kim's stretcher. Across the street, Kate watched her reunite with Jay and Tyler, saw their joyous looks at finding Kim alive turn to expressions of shock and horror as Nell delivered the news about Will.

"Let's go, Kaitlyn." Kensington had taken Kate's elbow and was steering her into a waiting black sedan. Walczak climbed into the passenger's seat beside a Secret Service driver who deftly maneuvered them through the thick crowd. The street had become a mob scene; dozens of news crews and onlookers had flocked to the site to see what could possibly have sparked such a massive law enforcement response.

As they sped through the late-evening streets toward the National Mall, Kate could hardly hold herself together, despite her years of training and her significant practice compartmentalizing emotions. All she could think was that Will was gone, gone forever. Gone where she could no longer see his handsome face, so expressive at times when he thought no one was watching; where she could no longer gaze into his blue-grey eyes, watching them turn a deep cerulean when he was angry or passionate; where she could no longer touch his warm skin, smooth except for his slightly calloused hands and the scratchy stubble on his cheeks he often neglected to shave.

She had forced herself to make peace with the possibility that Will would walk away from Kensington, the Branch, the CIA – and her. She hadn't allowed herself to hope, when he signed his pardon agreement that very morning, that his decision had been in any way influenced by a desire to remain close to her. She had realized that she could live without Will's love; she loved him anyway, regardless of his feelings.

But to be in the world without him, forever, knowing she would never see or speak to him again…It was almost more than she could bear.

_Now you know how he felt when you told him Maya had died. _

Kensington's cell phone rang. He snapped it up and grunted into the receiver a few times; Kate hardly listened. She stared out the window at the cars pulling out of their way, since the driver was running with lights flashing and sirens blaring. She recognized the streets around the National Mall and knew they would be arriving soon. She tried to steel herself for what was to come: They would probably be in for a very long night – perhaps even several long days – while search-and-rescue divers tried to recover Will's body from the river. And when they found him…Well, she would kiss him goodbye, the same way he had Maya, no matter what the fall or the water had done to him.

"They found him. You won't believe this, but he's alive."

Kate nearly jumped out of her skin at Kensington's pronouncement. Unable to believe her ears, she actually blurted out, "Who?"

_Surely he means Abrams…No one could have survived such a fall…_

Nell's words echoed in her ears: _"If anyone can get through this, it'll be him."_

"Traveler," Kensington answered impatiently, casting a glance her way that suggested he thought she might be losing it. Kate thought she might be as well. To the driver, he ordered, "Take us back to the hospital – Georgetown University. That's where they're transporting him."

As the sedan made a U-turn that caused Kate's stomach to drop into her shoes, Kensington continued the story of Will's remarkable survival. "Apparently a group of ecologists were standing on the bank just below the bridge when Traveler jumped. They were gathering samples from the river for testing, to be sure the pollution levels are within EPA limits."

Now it was Kate's turn to be impatient. "And they pulled him out? He survived the fall?"

"They had some diving gear with them, to take samples from the river bed, and yes, they were able to locate him and pull him out. He had to be resuscitated, but he's alive."

Kensington's expression confirmed Kate's fear that Will's situation was still precarious. From the front seat, Walczak asked, "How badly is he hurt?"

"Badly," Kensington replied. "I'm sure you can imagine, from the height that he jumped…But that's not the worst part."

Kate's insides twisted. What could be worse than the injuries from leaping off a bridge?

"When the ecologists started CPR, they found a glass phial in his mouth." Kensington, glancing from Kate to Walczak, added, "An _empty _glass phial."

The Morbus. _Oh God, oh no, Will…_

"Has everyone who came into contact with him been quarantined?" Walczak demanded, her thoughts, as they should have been, on preventing a pandemic. If he had indeed swallowed the Morbus – and Kate had a terrible feeling that, believing he was about to become fish-food, Will would have done just that – Will would be highly contagious; what was worse, without Breanna Murden or the Buchanans, it might take months to reverse-engineer an antidote.

Will had survived his fall by some miracle, Kate realized, but he was not likely to survive the infection that would now be raging in his body. Not in his weakened condition.

Kensington kept talking, explaining that all of the ecologists, paramedics, and police officers who had been on the scene were being transported to a CDC quarantine facility in Baltimore, where they would be tested and watched for symptoms. So long as Will had not infected himself until just before he jumped, which they all assumed he wouldn't have done, it looked as if an epidemic could be prevented.

Within ten minutes, they had arrived back at the hospital. Kate leapt out of the car before it even stopped moving and burst through the ER doors, demanding of the first doctor she saw: "Will Traveler, where is he?"

"The trauma unit, second floor," the doctor answered, looking taken aback by her appearance – she was still wearing a bullet-proof vest, Kate realized – and her sharp tone. "But you can't go in there," he called after her, as she set off at a dead-run down the hallway. "He's in a clean area, quarantined – "

Kate ignored the doctor and raced up the stairs to the second floor. Careening around a corner, she skidded to a stop as she took in the scene on the other side of two glass-fronted double doors.

Nurses and doctors in full Haz-Mat gear surrounded a cot where, with tubes and wires snaking out of him, Will lay, stripped to the waist. They had raised the head of his bed enough so that, even from a distance, Kate could see his face.

He looked angelic, as if he were only sleeping and would awaken at any moment.

"Kate."

Tyler's voice at her elbow caused Kate to jump again; she was not in agent-mode, not anywhere close. Her supreme cool was utterly melted.

She turned to find him, Jay and Nell standing just behind her. Tyler started, "How-how bad…?"

She shook her head to convey that she didn't know. "How's Kim?" she managed to pull herself together enough to ask.

"She's fine. They're admitting her for observation, but she's fine." Jay's voice was toneless. Like the rest of them, he was staring through the doors while the doctors worked feverishly on Will.

Tyler, his own voice taut with fear, put in, "Thad's doing good, too. I was in with him when they called about Will. He hasn't woken up yet, but he should soon. And they were able to save Stone's leg, so…"

His words trailed off as they watched a doctor disentangle himself from the swarm around Will's cot. After a small eternity in which they watched the man step into a small anteroom to remove his Haz-Mat suit and be decontaminated, the doctor finally start down the hall toward them.

_Here it comes…_

"You're the family?" the doctor inquired. His words were inflected with a slight Indian accent.

All four of them nodded at once.

"I'm Dr. Lahiri. Let's sit down over here," the dark-skinned, middle-aged man suggested, leading them over to a couch in a small waiting area. As they settled in beside one another, Kate and Nell sandwiched between Jay and Tyler, the doctor arranged himself in a chair opposite them.

"Director Walczak just phoned to say you have priority clearance," Dr. Lahiri began. "But it's important for you to understand that some of what I'm about to tell you is classified. The last thing we need is a public panic on our hands, and that's what we'll get if people think we've suffered a bioterror attack."

They each nodded to show they understood.

"Mr. Traveler has suffered some very serious injuries," the doctor went on. Jay took Kate's hand and squeezed it, hard; she squeezed back. "His skull is fractured. We're going to need to insert a tube into his skull to drain off some fluid, relieve the pressure on his brain so he doesn't have a stroke or an aneurysm. He's also going into emergency surgery shortly to remove his spleen, which has ruptured.

"Both of his legs are broken in numerous places, probably from the force of hitting the water feet-first, and at some later time, he will have to undergo extensive reconstructive orthopedic surgery. Also, his right lung was punctured by a broken rib, so we've put in a chest tub to re-inflate that. I can tell you that he is breathing on his own, which is a good sign."

"They said he had to be resuscitated," Tyler spoke up. Kate glanced his way and found that Nell had a death-grip on his hand similar to that one that she had on Jay's. "Is he – I mean, will he have, you know, brain damage?"

"Like I said, he is breathing on his own, which is a good sign," Dr. Lahiri responded carefully. "But he was without oxygen for several minutes, so it is possible that he may have suffered permanent brain damage. And anytime someone takes a blow with enough to fracture their skull, which again probably happened as a result of falling from such a great height, there is the possibility of brain damage from the head trauma. The fact is," the doctor admitted, "we just won't know until – or if – he wakes up."

_This is bad, and we haven't even gotten to the worst part…_

As if he had read Kate's thoughts, Dr. Lahiri, his voice dropping to an even more somber level, said, "In any other patient, the injuries I've just described to you would be enough for me to warn you that your friend may not survive, even though we are doing everything that can be done for him. But Mr. Traveler's most serious problem right now is the bacteria he was infected with.

"We've had the FBI fax us everything they have on this bacteria, this 'Morbus,' as it's called," Dr. Lahiri explained to them. "Your friend, so far as we can tell, ingested the bacteria. That means he isn't going to develop a lung infection, the way people who inhale anthrax do. The bacteria will be absorbed through his intestines, and that is where the infection will be – the gastrointestinal tract."

Sounding hopeful, Nell piped up, "Is that less serious than a lung infection?"

"With this particular bacteria, any type of infection is serious," the doctor warned. "But under normal circumstances, I would say that your friend has a better chance of surviving this type of infection, yes. However, these aren't normal circumstances," he continued, piercing the bubble of hope that had begun to form beneath Kate's heart. "For one thing, your friend is gravely injured. His body is in no condition to be fighting off an infection of this magnitude. For another, we don't know for sure how to treat this infection. We know what works against anthrax, and the FBI sent us some information about the antidote that had been developed, but it is entirely possible that we do not have any antibiotics that can cure this infection."

The doctor paused to let his words sink in. In spite of herself, Kate felt hot tears gather in her eyes; she tried to blink them away, yet they spilled over, running silently down her cheeks. She didn't realize until he pulled her against him that Jay was crying, too; looking to her right, she saw that Tyler was leaning into Nell's shoulder, sobbing quietly.

_We're going to lose him. He came back to us and we're going to lose him again…_

"What will you do, Doctor?" Nell, the only one of them who seemed to have any composure left, took control of the questions that still needed to be asked.

"Well, right now we're going to operate. Take out that ruptured spleen and repair the damage to his lung and insert that tube into his skull to prevent further brain damage. After that, we'll put Mr. Traveler in quarantine and start a cycle of antibiotics," Dr. Lahiri answered. "We're going to begin with massive doses of intravenous penicillin, which has been shown to be quite effective against gastrointestinal anthrax infections. If that doesn't work, we'll move on to ciproflaxin or erythromycin, just keep trying until we find something that works."

_Or until Will is dead, _the doctor didn't have to say.

"When can we see him?"

Standing, Dr. Lahiri shook his head apologetically. "Your friend is going to be quarantined for the time being. Deputy Director Kensington may be able to arrange something for you, but for right now, no one besides hospital staff are permitted near Mr. Traveler, for public health concerns."

The doctor made to leave, yet after a few steps, he turned back and looked at their sad, drawn faces. "The last thing I want to do is give you all false hope," the doctor said quietly. "But I've been a trauma surgeon for fifteen years, and I have to tell you, the fact that your friend is even alive is a miracle. He's a fighter. So don't give up on him just yet."

**Part 2**

A split-second after an initial, blinding flash of pain blotted all thought from his mind, Will opened his eyes and found himself standing on a sun-drenched beach. Just as he had known she would be, Maya was walking toward him, her hands outstretched, her face lit up in a welcoming smile.

They embraced. She was warm and soft and real; as her hands moved across his chest and shoulders, Will realized that his bruises were gone, his cuts healed, his broken bones mended. Even the scars Alex had carved into his wrist were no longer there.

_This must be my heaven, too._

Having read his thoughts, Maya shook her head. "Not yet, baby," she told him. "Maybe soon, but not yet."

Hand-in-hand, they started down the beach toward the crystal-blue water. Distantly, Will heard voices. He stopped, looking over his shoulder, wondering who was there with them.

"They're calling for you to come back." Maya sounded completely unconcerned by this fact. "You'll hear them sometimes, but it's okay. Stay with me for now."

"I want to stay with you forever," Will replied simply, catching her around the waist and kissing her.

Time moved strangely in that place – which was to say, time did not seem to move at all. They lay on the beach together, swam in the waves, visited their cave, yet he had no sense of time passing. The sun remained brilliant in the sky, enveloping them in the warmth of its rays. Will was surprised by how peaceful it was to have stepped outside of life, to be in a place where a perfect day lingered on forever.

He only became aware of time, in fact, when, above the gentle roar of the surf, he would catch the whisper of distant voices. Sometimes he could make out words and phrases: "removing the tube now," or, "no change," or, "seems to be responding to the antibiotic." Each time, his heart would stumble in his chest and he would reach for Maya, terrified that he was about to be pulled away from her, forced back into a body that he knew was broken and diseased.

Whenever this happened, Maya would take his hand and lead him into the waves, swimming down, down, down, until they reached the cave. Then she would stretch out mermaid-like on a rock, her gauzy rose-colored dress dripping wet, while Will wandered around the interior, taking in scenes from his life that played out on the mirror-walls.

He usually saw himself with Jay and Tyler. He watched their first meeting, cringed at his own disingenuousness; he hadn't even liked the Cubs at the time, he had to admit. But he had come to, more because of his roommates' devotion to the team than anything. In fact, it was while watching a Cubs game that Will had started to suspect that his operation in New Haven might become more complicated than he had anticipated. Knowing how it had turned out, that his friends were safe even if he wasn't with them, Will rather enjoyed looking back on the first time he had realized that he could come to see Jay and Tyler as more than a mission…

They had been living together in the Castle for nearly two weeks. Will was settling in to life as a graduate student; he despised chemical engineering, but the crash-course he had taken in it to prepare for the operation seemed to be enough to keep his head above water. Fortunately, neither of his roommates gave a damn about chemistry, so when he wasn't in class or laboring over homework, he could escape the subject entirely.

It was a sunny early September afternoon, a Saturday, and Will had just come downstairs after scrubbing off the sweat of his daily run. "Game's about to start," Jay admonished him. Tyler was already sprawled across the cheap leather sofa, Heineken in hand and bowl of Doritos within easy reach on the coffeetable.

The game, right…Will couldn't believe the misstep he had almost made regarding his cover: How could he, a supposedly dedicated Cubs fan, have nearly forgotten a game? It was an amateur mistake, and he was instantly furious with himself for making it.

Covering smoothly, he said, "I know, I know. But I have to maintain my manly physique, now don't I?"

Jay and Tyler snorted with laughter. Both tall and muscular, they had quickly taken to teasing Will about being short and slim. Will was surprised to find that he didn't mind being heckled; it had been a long time since anyone had dared call him "shrimp" or remark on his "bony ass," even in a good-natured way. Yet he rather enjoyed the attention. It reminded him of what having older brothers must have been like.

He and Jay carried their Heinekens into the living room. On the large-screen television Tyler had purchased for their enjoyment, they watched the first pitch be thrown at Wrigley Field.

Will approached the afternoon as he would any mission: studying his targets' reactions, carefully tempering his own to be in-line with the character he was playing. But by the bottom of the eighth, with a half-eaten extra-large supreme pizza on the coffeetable, numerous empty Heineken bottles littering the floor, and the Cubs down by one against the Giants, Will realized that he was shouting at the TV without even having to think about it.

Startled, he settled back in his chair and snuck a glance at his roommates, both of whom were absorbed in the game. They had been so welcoming to him, so accepting, so eager to know who he was. They treated him like a life-long friend, like a brother, almost. Whatever he had expected from this mission, it was not to find himself half-wishing he wasn't pretending, that he really was a chemical engineering grad student from Deer Harbor, Maine, just an ordinary guy named Will Traveler who liked pizza and baseball…

The scene in the mirror dissolved as Maya stepped up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. "They love you," she murmured against his neck, sending delicious shivers down Will's spine. "And you see? You loved them, too, right from the start."

And so his time with Maya stretched on, each moment as happy as the next, and for a while, Will forgot that he was not really there with her. Gradually, however, something odd began to happen. He would be talking to Maya, or stroking her hair, or kissing her, and suddenly, he would feel himself fading away. The sensation was almost like fainting, although no pain or sickness accompanied it. One minute he would be completely with Maya, and the next, he would be inside the body that waited for him back in the real world.

He would first become aware of a terrible sense of confinement: He could not open his eyes, move his arms or legs, turn his head, even speak. Then he would feel the pain, white-hot waves of it rolling through his stomach, his legs, his skull: He would be cold, terribly cold, chilled down to the bone. And around him would be voices, sometimes the unfamiliar drone of a doctor or nurse describing his current state – recovering from the infection, bones were knitting back together well, swelling in the brain had gone down – but other times, voices he recognized. Voices he missed.

Once, Jay said near his ear, "We miss you, Will. Hang in there."

Another time, Tyler sat close by describing the plans he had for Fog Industries: "Nell and I are starting this new media outlet, 'Common Sense' – like Thomas Paine, you know? I think it's the best way to keep people like Abrams and Freed from ever getting a foothold in this country again, to have a free media – a really free media – that tells people the truth…"

Occasionally, Kim's voice broke through the haze of pain, sometimes telling him how her pregnancy was progressing – "I'm big as a house, you should see me" – and other times just talking, describing the weather to him (cold and snowy, as Christmas neared), or relating how nervous Jay was about the upcoming bar exam, or recounting funny stories about shopping for baby clothes and furniture.

Most often, however, Kate sat beside him. Will wasn't sure how he knew she was there, since she rarely spoke, though she sometimes read aloud to him from the stories they both loved – _The Great Gatsby, The Old Man and the Sea, The Mill on the Floss. _She would, however, always tell him if she was going to touch him and why – "I'm changing the dressing on your feeding tube now, Will," she would say, or "I'm just going to wash your hair now, okay?"

And without fail, he supposed before she went to sleep each night, she would lean close to his cheek and whisper, "Sweet dreams, Will. I'll see you tomorrow."

_Don't make me stay. Don't make me come back. It hurts…_

Always he would return to Maya, the visits sometimes lasting minutes, sometimes hours. He and Maya did not discuss his absences. He wondered if she knew he was gone: Could she miss someone in heaven? He couldn't imagine any sadness touching her in that enchanted place.

Yet, in spite of their continued happiness, Will began to notice other, subtle changes. Most importantly, he became aware of time again, on a regular basis. It was as if someone had positioned a giant clock just over his shoulder; whenever he swiveled around, the clock would move with him, never in sight but always ticking, ticking, ticking right behind him. He felt the weeks and months dragging by back in the real world.

He also began to sense what was happening to his body even when he was not trapped inside of it. He knew when the infection that had ravaged him, leaving him almost thirty pounds lighter than on the day he had leapt into the Potomac, was finally cured. He knew when his friends transported him on a private, medically-equipped jet from the hospital in Washington, D.C., to Tyler and Thad's Manhattan apartment, where Thad and a staff of well-trained nurses took over his care full-time. He knew when the bones in his legs at last healed, after six surgeries, including one to remove a portion of his right tibia and replace it with an internal prosthetic.

He knew that his failure to regain consciousness continued to be the doctors' gravest concern. Deep inside, though, Will knew his brain wasn't damaged. His body was ready to wake up – if he wanted it to.

_Stay here or go back. Die or live._

At last the day came when Maya turned toward him as they lay side-by-side staring up at the endless blue sky, the sand warm beneath them. "You have to decide, Will," she said, and he knew instantly what she meant.

"Now?" He rolled over to face her, stretching out a hand to run his fingers through her silky hair. "Why now?"

"Something's happening, back there." Maya gestured over her shoulder. Will became aware of a disturbance down the beach, a sort of rippling in the air, as if a portal had opened there. "Your friends are deciding what happens next. They think you might not ever wake up."

The idea of leaving Maya seared Will's soul. "Are you telling me I can choose to stay here, forever, if I want?" he pressed. "That it can always be like this, just the two of us?"

"You're my heaven. Wouldn't I be yours?"

They kissed, softly. When Maya pulled back, her eyes were serious. "You don't have to die, Will. I've seen another life for you, back there. It would be a good life." She traced his jaw with her fingertip. "It wouldn't be perfect, like this, but it would be enough for you, I think. You could be happy."

"I can't imagine being happy without you."

"You would be. You could love again." Maya snuggled into his arms, her head resting on his chest; Will held her as tightly as he could, afraid she would suddenly vanish. "I want that for you, if you go back. I want you to let yourself live."

Will kissed the top of her head. "You're the one that I love, Maya. That won't ever change."

"You're the one that I love, Will, but there's someone else who loves you, too. Lots of people, in fact. And soon," she added, a smile in her voice, "there'll be two new people to love you."

_Jay and Kim's babies. Yes, she'll be having them soon…_

"Even if I went back, I couldn't stay," Will realized, speaking more to himself than to Maya. "I was never really Will Traveler, you know that – you helped me create him. I couldn't resume a life that wasn't even real."

He knew that was what Jay and Tyler would want him to do. They wouldn't understand; they had only ever known him as Will, even once they knew "Will" wasn't who he had claimed to be at first. But they wouldn't be able to see that he was someone besides Will, someone more than Will – too much of someone else, in fact, to spend his life playing a character.

_If I go back, I want to be me. Not Daniel Taft or Ezra Tucker or Will Traveler. I want to be me._

_I'm not sure who that is, but I could figure it out, I suppose…_

"Then go back and be you." Maya sat up, her eyes sparkling, her hair falling across her shoulders. The smile she graced him with was brighter than the brilliant sun shining down on them. "I'm not going anywhere, Will. I'll be here when you come back."

Will's heart began to pound. He could feel life – no, more than that, the instinct to live, to survive – tugging at him, like the current that had sucked him down to the bottom of the river after he jumped. He clasped Maya's hands, afraid: afraid to leave her, afraid to return to the pain and care of living, afraid to reach for a life different than any he had ever known. A life as himself.

"What if I can't do it?" he asked hoarsely, searching her face for the truth. "What if I go back and it's too much? What if I can't wake up? I was hurt – I'm still hurt. I can feel it."

His body was poised on the brink, Will realized, teetering between life and death. If he fought for life, he might win, or he might lose. It could go either way.

"Then you'll come back here, to me. And we'll be together always." Maya touched his face gently. "But you're strong, Will, stronger than you've ever let yourself believe. If you want to live – if you really, truly want to live – then I think you'll find a way."

**Part 3**

Standing outside a trashy New York City nightclub in the freezing January wind, his insides throbbing from the pounding of the music even on the sidewalk, Jay asked himself what, exactly, he was doing. He was about to become a father (one month, two weeks and counting), he had been (officially) married for just six months, he would sit the New York State Bar Exam in three weeks. And here he was, planning to kill a man.

Hard to believe that the day this nightmare had begun, he had been wary of skating through a museum. Jay wasn't sure if he missed or pitied the man he had been that day. He did know that the pre-Drexler Jay Burchell would have been horrified by what he had, mere hours ago, readily agreed to do.

The evening had started off as usual: Kim, in the kitchen of their Manhattan apartment, conveniently located on the floor above Tyler and Thad's, had been stirring a pot of pasta on the stove and singing quietly along with her Diana Krall CD; he, Jay, had been seated on their couch, surrounded by books and notes, plowing through New York property law in preparation for the bar exam. The ultra-swank apartment still made Jay feel a little like a hotel guest – his new position as an associate with Fog Industries' legal department, which would become official once he passed the bar, paid much more than Jay had ever expected to make directly out of law school – so he had been fastidiously picking books up off the floor when the phone rang.

"I'll get it," Kim had sung out. Jay had looked up, struck again by how lusciously beautiful his wife was with her round hips and full belly, as she plucked the cordless off the wall and chirped, "Burchell residence, Kim speaking."

The grin she had given him had told Jay that she still adored saying "Burchell residence." They were ridiculously in love, they really were – Tyler had taken to telling them how sappy they were.

"Oh, hi, Harold. Yeah, he's right here." Kim had held out the phone to Jay, who had taken it and smacked her backside as she turned away, earning him a playful glare.

"Hi, Harold. What's up?" Jay had inquired of the NSA Deputy Director. Having recovered fully from his wounds (physically, at least – Jay knew Stone would never totally get over losing Marlow, for whom he had cared a great deal), Stone was back at work and often called them with updates on the joint NSA/FBI venture to bring down as many members of the Fourth Branch as possible.

"Don't say anything where Kim can hear," Stone had started off, startling Jay with his gruffness. "We've got Abrams. We're just bringing him in. If you're still interested in what we talked about, now's your chance."

Jay had not hesitated. Watching his wife putting dinner on the table with one hand resting protectively on the curve of her belly, he had said, "Where should I meet you?"

He had told Kim that Stone had some new information about the Branch that he needed to speak with Jay about immediately. She had offered to hold dinner for him, but he had insisted that she go ahead without him and get to bed early. Reluctantly, she had agreed.

So now, here he was, freezing on a street corner while he waited for Stone to fetch him so he could be the one to put a bullet between Maxwell Abrams' eyes.

At precisely eight-thirty, the agreed upon time, a black sedan pulled up to the curb. The driver's side window came down, revealing, to Jay's surprise, Nell Graham behind the wheel. "Get in," she instructed him. "I'm taking you to Abrams."

Jay slid into the passenger's seat, grateful for the heated interior. Still, he couldn't help being slightly irritated; three months ago, when Stone had returned to activity duty, Jay had asked him in the strictest confidence if he would allow him to do away with Abrams.

"Stone brought you in on this?" Jay challenged. Try as he might not to distrust Nell, he still wasn't certain what her endgame was, despite the loyalty she had shown him and Tyler thus far. He definitely didn't want her to know that he had committed a murder – talk about blackmail material.

"You think Stone's going to be present when you off a federal prisoner?" Nell grated a look his way that said plainly, _Get with the program. _"This is black ops stuff, Jay. The NSA isn't going to touch it."

Jay supposed that made sense. After all, the NSA and FBI had been tracking Abrams since August and promising the country he would be brought to justice; a public accounting for was expected once he was in custody, not a backroom execution.

Everything about their situation had changed once Kensington and Walczak, with the blessing of the Fourth Branch members who were on their side, had elected to storm the Fallbrook Dunn building. In a press conference following the raid, Kensington had laid bare for the country exactly what the Fourth Branch was, even going so far as to admit his own involvement, and who its members were. Senator Dawson, Ronald Darby, Governor Howard and a good many other members had backed Kensington's story; even the president had come forward. For a few rocky weeks, it had seemed like the nation would hang everyone involved in the numerous, complex plots to secretly control the government out to dry, but in the end, the truth had worked its wonders: Those Branch members, like Kensington and Dawson, who truly seemed to have the best interests of the country at heart began to receive an outpouring of public support, in many cases keeping their jobs and political posts as an extensive investigation into the Branch's doings proceeded.

With the Branch's secrets exposed, Jay, Tyler and Kim had little to fear – except for retaliation, of course. Shears had ordered their Secret Service protection kept in place for the foreseeable future. Considering that Jay and Tyler had become overnight heroes, celebrated around the nation for their dedication to stopping a dangerous shadow-government, the extra protection actually came in handy for warding off reporters and well-wishers. Although he didn't suppose he would ever let his guard down fully, Jay had to admit that, all in all, he felt relatively safe these days.

_Now, if Will would just wake up, we could finally get on with our lives…_

Focused on Will's precarious health in those first few days after the Branch's "last stand," Jay, Kim and Tyler had not immediately grasped the magnitude of Kensington's revelation. It was only in the weeks that followed, as Will gradually responded to the antibiotics and was graduated from "critical" to "stable," that they looked around and realized what a sweeping change had taken place in the country. The American public was furious; to have believed that they were making the country's most vital decisions by electing leaders who would represent _them, _only to discover that a significant majority of public officials had been working with wealthy, powerful private citizens to advance their own agendas, seemed to have awoken an ire in the American people not seen since the Watergate scandal. In fact, a recent news story Jay had seen had remarked that "the Fourth Branch" had replaced "Watergate" as shorthand for political corruption in the popular lexicon.

Numerous Branch members had been arrested and charged with treason. Members of Congress and state legislatures, mayors and governors and aldermen, judges and district attorneys had resigned or had been forced out of office as their involvement with the Branch came to light. Billionaires who had thought themselves above the law found that they couldn't buy their way out of this situation. Practically overnight, although the investigation and trials were still on-going and would likely continue for a number of years, the Branch's silent stranglehold on the country had been broken.

Some of the most dangerous and highly-placed members, like Abrams, had managed to elude capture, a cause of great concern amongst the NSA, FBI, and CIA because they all knew the lengths such people were willing to go to in hopes of resuming control. Yet for the most part, the Fourth Branch had lost its ability to dominate the world from the shadows. Jay had to hand it to his fellow citizens: When it came down to it, they had refused to walk away from the promise of a government "of the people, by the people, and for the people." Like Will had once told him, stepping off the beaten path and seeing what made their country "tick," as he had put it, had definitely changed Jay's outlook on life. He was proud to be an American again.

"You sure you're ready for this, Jay?"

Nell's question startled him out of his reverie. "Ready for what?"

"For shooting a man in cold-blood," Nell answered evenly, her eyes on the road.

Jay stared out the windshield without responding. Nell had driven them into one of the worst slums in the city; taking in the crippling poverty around him, Jay reflected on the privileged life he now led – the life his wife and children would lead – and what he was willing to do to protect that life, for all of them.

He recalled his father's words from long ago: _"Don't ever become a soldier, Jay – you're a better man than I am, and I want you to stay that way..."_

_But my father was a soldier, and he was a good man. Will is a good man; Marlow was good – weren't they both soldiers, too? In my position, what would any of them do?_

"We're here." Nell had stopped in front of an abandoned, boarded-up Catholic church. Catching sight of Jay's grimace, she smirked, "God's gonna see this no matter where you do it, Jay, so don't read anything into the locale. I'm not trying to save your soul."

"What's your stake in all this, Nell?" Nervous about the task that lay ahead, uncertain if he could do what he believed needed to be done, Jay couldn't stop himself from lashing out – especially when Nell's unflappable calm threw his own discomfiture into sharp relief, making him feel even more anxious. "I know why Tyler and I are still involved, but why you?"

"Hey, don't take your issues out on me," Nell shot back, unphased by his irritation. "You want to shoot the bastard, shoot the bastard – it's nothing to me.

"But to answer your question," she went on, a hint of wounded pride in her voice, "I got 'involved' to protect my country, Jay, and I've stayed involved because over the last six years I've watched these people do some scary shit that I want to see stopped. And in case you hadn't noticed," she added, her dark eyes snapping now, "a lot of people that I care about have been hurt in all this mess. Like Will. And Tyler. And Kim. Even you."

Chastised, Jay looked away from her. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Whatever. If we're going to do this, let's do it."

Nell stepped out of the car. Jay hesitated a moment, watching through the windshield as a few light snowflakes began to fall from the night sky. He thought of his children then, of sharing with them in the wonder of their first snowfall in the coming years.

Suddenly, he was no longer nervous. He knew what he had to do.

Nell led him into the church without speaking, obviously still smarting from his words. Jay knew he owed her a better apology than just "sorry" – he shouldn't have snapped at her, whether he trusted her or not – but that would have to wait.

The inside of the church looked as if it had been bombed. Portions of the floor were missing, revealing mud and muck underneath the rows of rotted, molding wooden pews, many of which had been smashed; cold air poured in through cracks and holes in the elaborate stained-glass windows, all of which were crusted with years' worth of dirt and grime. The front of the church had been vandalized, Swastikas and gang symbols and profanity spray-painted over statues of the Christ and the Madonna. From the stench of urine and body odor that assaulted his nose the moment they entered the building, Jay had a feeling the local homeless population were the only ones who made regular use of the church anymore.

Three armed men stood near the front of the sanctuary, where Maxwell Abrams, still dressed impeccably in a three-thousand-dollar suit, sat bound to a hard-backed chair. He smiled sardonically as Jay made his way up the aisle toward him.

"Come to give me legal advice, Counselor?" Abrams quipped.

In response, Jay turned to Nell and extended his hand. Wordlessly, she slid a .9 millimeter from an inner pocket of her brown leather jacket and placed it in his upturned palm.

Jay's heart began to pound. Could he do this after all? Could he look a man in the eye and end his life?

If he couldn't, Jay had a feeling Nell could. The anger radiating off of her now had nothing to do with his earlier nastiness; she looked at Abrams with the kind of cold disdain Jay associated with squashing cockroaches.

Abrams chuckled, a low, mocking sound that caused heat to rise in Jay's cheeks. "My, my, Mr. Burchell, decided to play rough, have we? You know," the captive went on, sounding bemused by the turn of events even as Jay screwed a silencer onto the end of the gun, "I suspect this unexpected foray into the Dark Side has something to do with Mr. Traveler's condition. He's still in a coma, I hear? I have to say, I did always wonder what the _real_ relationship was between you three boys. Now I guess I know."

The suggestiveness of the words turned Jay's stomach, especially when he recalled Kim describing how Abrams could not keep his hands off of Will during their encounter. If Will had released the Morbus and gone back, what would Abrams have done to him? What would he have done to Kim? Nearly overcome by fury, Jay leveled the gun at Abrams' head.

_He's a perverted, twisted, cruel old man, and he deserves to die. You know it._

"Let's face it, Mr. Burchell, you aren't going to shoot me." Abrams' smile reflected supreme confidence in this assertion, despite the fact that he was literally staring down the barrel of a gun held in Jay's steady hands. "One of your companions here probably will, but not you. As Mr. Traveler used to say in his reports, you're a Boy Scout."

The rational part of Jay's mind cautioned him not to engage in Abrams' banter, to simply pull the trigger and get it over with. But another, more sensitive part of him argued that he needed to be sure that Abrams – and perhaps Jay himself, and maybe even Nell, whom he would have to face day in and day out after this night was over – understood why he was dying.

Without lowering the gun, Jay told his intended victim, "I want to be clear about something: I'm not going to kill you for revenge. If that was all I wanted, it'd be a lot more satisfying to watch you rot in federal prison somewhere.

"Kim's talked to me a lot about what you said to her and Will that night," Jay went on, seeing the tiniest crack in Abrams' self-assured façade as the older man nervously licked his lips. "She said that you told Will he should have known better than to think you would ever go to prison, because you have too much power. She said you told him that you could get to anybody or anything, and no one could stop you.

"I know a lot's changed since that night, but some things won't ever really change – men like you will always have access to some sort of power."

Jay took a step closer to Abrams. The other man didn't flinch, but Jay did see a fine sheen of perspiration on his brow, in spite of the frigid temperature inside the church. He knew Abrams was frightened, and it gave him a cruel pleasure that he didn't really want to feel.

"You said it yourself, Mr. Abrams: As long as you're alive, my family and I won't ever really be safe. We could be 'gotten to,' as you put it," Jay concluded, staring directly down into Abrams' cold gray eyes. "So if I let you live, every time my wife or my children walked out the front door, I would wonder, 'Is this the day Maxwell Abrams will send someone after them?' And I know, even though she'd never say it, Kim would wonder the same thing. You've done enough damage to our lives as it is. I'm not going to let you tarnish our futures as well."

Abrams spoke softly, his voice wheedling. "You and I could help one another, Mr. Burchell. You think you've destroyed the Fourth Branch, but you haven't – sooner or later, we will rebuild. People with money and power have always ruled this country, and they always will. Democracy is a fiction you tell the masses to keep them satisfied.

"We will always need good men in this fight. Men who aren't afraid to make hard choices. I look at you, standing here now, ready to do what needs to be done, and I see the potential for you to do great things in an organization like the Branch, Mr. Burchell. Great things for this nation. Great things for your family."

Jay experienced a flashbulb memory of Freed in the back of a limousine, promising that he would tell them everything, answer all of their questions, if they would only let him go. Tyler had been right all along, Jay realized, thinking of the many conversations about the Branch he and Tyler had engaged in over the past seven months. These people were interested in nothing so much as saving their own hides.

_Soldiers protect their countries. Fathers protect their children. Husbands protect their wives. Brothers protect their brothers. This man is a threat to all of those things – a threat you can end, right here, right now._

A profound sense of calm settled over Jay. He had made his decision; he knew, by the terrified look in Abrams' eyes, that the other man saw it as well.

"I don't think you have anything to offer that I'd be interested in, Mr. Abrams." Jay removed the safety on his weapon; the small _click_ echoed harshly in the large, quiet room.

Aware of the irony, all Jay could think to say were the words Will had said to him just before the Drexler exploded: "I'm sorry I had to do this."

_Now I know what he meant by that…_

Muffled by the silencer, the gunshot was not heard outside of the church. One minute, Abrams was gaping open-mouthed at Jay. The next, he was slumped in his chair, blood flowing freely from a tiny hole above his left temple as well as from a much bigger exit-wound in the back of his head.

Jay had expected to feel remorse or regret. Instead, he felt only relief. He didn't know if that made him a monster or a good man; he only knew that he was glad the job was done.

He handed the gun back to Nell, who was looking at him with a mixture of concern and respect. Heading toward the door, suddenly anxious to be home, all Jay said to her was, "Don't ever tell Kim about this."

**Part 4**

For Tyler, the most difficult part of coming back to the Manhattan apartment where he had spent so many happy times as a child was taking over his father's study. However, as his new media project, Common Sense, took off, he found that he needed more workspace than even his spacious second-floor bedroom could provide. And so, with Thad gently nudging him along, Tyler had finally cleared out his father's desk and moved into the study officially.

Sitting in the elegant room, Tyler often remembered how, as a child, he had thought the rolling leather desk-chair resembled a throne. He had to smile now as he realized that what he had really been thinking was that his father was like a king. With a multi-billion dollar company in his charge, a successful new media venture underway, and a fortune at his fingertips, Tyler had to admit, being the head of the Fog family was somewhat like ruling a small fiefdom.

The extended family had rallied nicely in the wake of Tyler's public exoneration. To hear them tell it, his various aunts, uncles, and cousins had never for a minute suspected that he was actually guilty. They had only distanced themselves, they rushed to explain, for the good of the family name.

Tyler couldn't have cared less. They all kept their jobs with Fog Industries, not only because many of them were board members (or the children of members) and would have been difficult to fire, but also because the majority of them knew their business and did it well. He had learned from his father that fighting with family never served anyone's purposes, so he accepted their apologies and settled into the role of patriarch, the eldest son of the eldest son.

Thad often remarked that he was grateful fate had not put him in Tyler's shoes. As he had said when Mort informed Tyler of Carlton's wishes, Thad had no interest in running Fog Industries. He left the decision-making up to Tyler and focused on becoming a doctor, transferring his residency to New York-Presbyterian Hospital so he could stay in the city with Tyler. It was difficult to believe that not so long the brothers would hardly speak to one another; now, they were extremely close, nigh inseparable.

In fact, the only point of contention between them was Will.

It was this subject that had Tyler pacing his father's study – he still couldn't think of it as _his _study, though he supposed someday he would, when his grief was less raw. The night before, Thad had dropped by Tyler's room around midnight, looking exhausted from a ten-hour shift at the hospital, to update him on Will's condition.

"It's still not improving," Thad had told Tyler wearily. "The last brainwave showed only limited activity. And his respirations dropped again last night. Kate told me they had to put oxygen on him and turn it up to almost fifty percent. That's not good, Tyler."

"People wake up from comas all the time," Tyler had insisted, sounding like a broken record even to himself. For four months, ever since Will had been moved to the Manhattan apartment after recovering from the Morbus infection, he and Thad had circled this same dilemma.

"Yes, people do," Thad had agreed gently, sympathetic as always to the difficulty of this situation for his brother. "But some people never wake up from them, Tyler. We've talked about this. The longer Will remains unconscious, the more his body seems to be slowly shutting down. His renal functions have decreased, he's having more and more heart arrhythmias, and now, he's having increasing periods of respiratory distress. None of that indicates that he's getting better."

Hearing that Will was inching toward death day by day, no matter how many specialists and alternative-medicine doctors and spiritualist healers they brought in on his case, frightened Tyler. He did not want to think about losing Will; he couldn't. So, with more irritation than was necessary, he had demanded, "He's not on a respirator or anything like that, Thad, so what do you want me to do? It's not like we even have a plug to pull."

"I want the same thing I wanted last week and the week before and the week before that: I want you and Jay to consider agreeing to not take heroic action if he gets into trouble."

Tyler had, as usual, firmly shaken his head. Since Will had no surviving relatives that they knew of, he and Jay were acting as Will's power of attorney; Kate had declined when they offered the responsibility to her, saying any decisions regarding Will's wishes should be made by the two people he had thought of as family. She seemed content to sit beside Will day in and day out, curled up in a huge recliner beside his bed with her laptop balanced on her knees and classified documents strewn around her. She had removed herself from fieldwork until Will recovered (no one mentioned the other possibility), but she was still working tirelessly to help Kensington compile evidence against the Branch members in custody and those still at large, like Abrams.

Thad had thrown up his hands in frustration. "Fine, we'll just make sure that your best friend gets to live to a ripe old age in a vegetative state," he had snapped at his older brother, exhaustion seeming to deteriorate his normally endless patience. "I'm sure that's what Will would have wanted, from everything you and Jay have told me about him. So don't worry. We'll do all we can to keep him from passing away quietly."

Tyler had stopped Thad at the doorway, laying an apologetic hand on his younger sibling's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he had said, meaning it. "It's just…I don't want to give up, Thad, do you understand that? Not after everything we've been through. It feels wrong, like I'm letting him down."

"I understand." Thad had really seemed to, which only made Tyler even more proud of what an amazing person his little brother had grown up to be. "But Ty, you have to accept that Will's body has been through more than what most people could ever have survived, and it doesn't seem to be healing anymore. I want him to wake up and get better, too, but the fact of the matter is, everything I'm seeing is telling me that his organs are going to begin to fail. And when that process starts, you and Jay are going to face some very difficult decisions about how much or how little we do to prolong his life."

_How do we let Will go? How do we stand back and do nothing while he dies? We never even got to say goodbye – one minute we were all so happy together, the next minute, all hell had broken loose and he was gone…_

Tyler had mounted a large, flat-screen television on the wall across from the fireplace so (being a newsman now himself in many respects) he could monitor what was happening in the world. As he walked around and around the circle of chairs in front of his desk, thoughts of Will and worries about his condition chasing themselves through his mind, he suddenly became aware that regular programming had been interrupted.

He stopped dead in his tracks as a CNN anchor declared over a swell of dramatic music, "We have reports coming in now that the body of Maxwell Abrams, the former CEO of the crisis management firm Fallbrook Dunn and a suspected ring-leader of the Fourth Branch's domestic terror network, has been found in the Hudson River."

_Did I hear that correctly? Somebody offed Abrams?_

The anchorwoman went on, "A source inside the NYPD tells CNN that the murder may have occurred as early as last night, and that the cause of death appears to be a single, execution-style gunshot wound to the head."

_Serves the son of a bitch right. I hope the bullet was slow; I hope it hurt like hell._

Tyler sank down into the desk-chair and listened hard as the anchorwoman related what sparse details she had. Almost immediately after the report ended, the phone on his desk began to ring, and so did the cell phone in his pocket. Before he could answer either, Nell breezed through the doors, looking drop-dead gorgeous in a tailored black business suit.

"We're on it," she informed him crisply. "I've got Hillary and Matt over at the morgue, and Leslie and Ginger are working their contacts at NYPD, and I've put in a call to Harold Stone for a comment from NSA. We'll have it online in thirty minutes, tops – I already had Kyle post the headline."

Tyler was, as always, floored by her efficiency. Officially, Nell was no longer employed by Kensington or the CIA; she had, as she had told him she meant to do, resigned shortly before Christmas, once the worst of the peril for Tyler, Jay, Kim and Will seemed to be over. Tyler suspected that she still did some work for them on the side, but he didn't press the issue, trusting that Nell knew how involved to be with the dangerous people Kensington associated with. In any event, her extracurricular espionage activities did not interfere with the excellent work she did for him helping to manage Common Sense.

The idea for Common Sense, a truly independent media network, had grown out of Tyler's realization on the day of President Shears' press conference that the media could be a powerful weapon against the sorts of secret conspiracies perpetrated by people like Jack Freed and Maxwell Abrams. In the past seven months, using capital from Fog Industries, he and Nell had hired young, eager journalists, men and women who weren't afraid to get their hands dirty mucking around for the truth behind official stories, who would fearlessly cultivate relationships with sources at all levels of government and industry. As a team, they had established a bi-monthly magazine, which after three months had a circulation in the hundreds of thousands nationwide, and created a website that featured Podcasts on special or current events topics as well as live news updates. Tyler was proud of himself because he believed he could make a difference doing this work; he knew his father would have been proud because the venture was proving to be a cash cow.

Forty minutes later, Nell and Tyler were deep into investigating the Abrams story when Thad suddenly appeared in the doorway, his face white and drawn. "You'd better come," he said to them. "It's Will."

Tyler's mind seemed to disconnect from his body. He sat frozen for a full minute until Nell, seizing him by the elbow, pulled him to his feet and drug him up the stairs.

Carlton's old room had been essentially transformed into a hospital room once Will came to live with them: IV poles, oxygen tanks, heart monitors, something Thad referred to as a "crash cart," and a locked box of numerous medicines took up most of the space in the room that was not occupied by an actual hospital bed where Will lay, sleeping, and the huge recliner where Kate spent most of her days. When it was warm outside, Kate would open the French doors leading out onto the terrace so Will could feel the breeze and hear the sounds of the city; on frigid winter days, like that one, the doors were closed but all of the curtains drawn back to let in the brilliant January sunshine.

Kate was standing on the far side of Will's bed, holding his hand while one of the nurses (Tyler could never remember their names, they were all middle-aged and stern and efficient) took Will's pulse. "What's happening?" Tyler demanded of Thad. Will didn't look any different to him – terribly thin and pale – yet the mood in the room suggested a crisis.

"Thad and I were in here with him, and…We thought he was trying to wake up for a moment," Kate answered, her voice shaking slightly. Tyler could tell she was frightened, and that scared him. "His eyelids sort of jerked open. But then his heart went into this odd rhythm…"

As her words trailed off, Thad took over, sounding grim. "I think he may have had a heart attack, Ty. I've looked at the strips," he held up a long scroll that to Tyler looked like some kind of seismic activity chart, "and he definitely suffered a cardiac event of some type."

"If he's had a heart attack, what the hell are we waiting for? Let's get an ambulance and get him to the hospital," Tyler cried. He couldn't imagine why they were all standing around while Will's heart threatened to give out on him.

Kate and Thad exchanged a significant look across the bed. An alarm went off on the monitor behind Kate; the nurse moved quickly to shut it off. Turning to Thad, the woman declared, "He's in SVT, Doctor. Should I get the crash cart ready?"

"Hang on, Jeanine." Thad stepped closer to Tyler, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Remember what I told you last night, about Will's body giving out? I think that's what we're seeing here, Tyler. He may have thrown a clot, he may have had a stroke, he could have any number of things going on. But what it comes down to is, Will is not recovering. This is your proof."

Tyler jerked away from his brother. He wouldn't listen to this; he wouldn't calmly accept Will's death. "You do something for him!" he shouted. He had not been so angry since the weeks following his father's death, when inexplicable surges of rage had occasionally rushed through him. "You help him, Thad, I mean it."

"What's happening?" Kim's voice from the doorway, high and terrified, brought Tyler's head around. He was grateful to see both her and Jay rushing forward; now that Jay was here, together they would be able to talk some sense into Thad.

_We're the ones who make the final call. And we are not giving up on Will – he never gave up on us._

Thad quickly brought Jay and Kim up to speed. Meanwhile, the nurse, Jeanine, was readying the small metal table in the corner, which Tyler guessed was the "crash cart." Jay folded his arms across his chest, managing to look scared and determined at the same time; beside him, Kim, who was crying quietly, had taken one of Will's hands; on the other side of the bed, Kate stroked Will's fingers, gazing down into his face with an expression of such tenderness it hurt Tyler's heart to see.

Nell stood beside Tyler, neither moving nor speaking. Just her presence was a comfort to him.

"Have you called an ambulance?" was Jay's first question. Tyler felt like cheering.

"No," Thad answered wearily. "Did you hear anything I just said, Jay?"

"I heard you, and I'm not convinced." Jay's jaw was set. He looked to Tyler, who nodded in agreement. "Will's made it a lot farther than anyone ever thought he would. If we give up now, we could be letting him die for no reason."

The alarm sounded again. Kim jumped. "Is-is that bad?" she asked shrilly, her eyes moving from Thad, to Kate, to the nurse.

"His heart won't stay in rhythm. His blood pressure is dropping and his respirations are slowing down." Thad spoke brusquely, his tone belying the exasperation he felt toward Jay and Tyler, although outwardly he remained the consummate professional. To the nurse, he said, "Get the epinephrine ready, Jeanine, and call 911. Tell them to get paramedics on the way."

"Please don't do this."

Kate spoke so softly that, for a moment, Tyler thought he might have imagined her words. Yet the timber of her voice – something desperate and lost and hollow behind it – stilled the room as surely as if she had screamed at the top of her lungs.

Eyes locked on Will's face, Kate continued in the same low, mournful tone, "Please don't make him suffer anymore. Don't stick him with needles and shock him with those paddles and force oxygen down into his lungs. It's like torturing him all over again."

Tyler couldn't think of how to respond. Didn't she see, didn't she understand? They weren't trying to hurt Will – they were trying to save him.

"Kate, he's unconscious," Jay argued, sounding as thrown as Tyler felt. "He won't feel it."

"How would you know?" Kate's gaze shifted to Jay first, then to Tyler. The fire burning behind them was hot enough to sear right through both of them. "You wander in and out of here a few times a day, sometimes not even that. I'm here with him, every minute that I'm not asleep, and I'm telling you, he _feels._

"I watch him struggle for breath in the night," Kate went on, her eyes filling with tears. Tyler felt a lump forming in his own throat; what she was saying was almost too awful to hear, but he couldn't deny that she had earned the right to say it through her absolute devotion to their friend. "I see his eyes moving even though he can't open them. I know he can hear us. I know he can feel it when I touch him. I know he feels everything that happens to him. And I am asking you," she concluded, more impassioned than Tyler had ever seen her, "I am _begging _you, both of you, not to hurt him anymore."

Tyler and Jay turned to one another. In his best friend's eyes, Tyler saw his own, nearly unbearable internal struggle reflected: If they were truly forcing Will to suffer because of their own selfish desire to keep him with them, they had to do the right thing and let him go – but what if the pained expressions Kate thought she saw were really evidence of their friend trying to wake up, trying to communicate with them?

_Thad is an excellent doctor, you know this. He's telling you that Will isn't getting better, that he isn't trying to wake up – he's dying. And Kate has taken more care of Will than anyone, but now she's telling you to let him go._

_Just let him go. Just let him be at peace._

Tyler sensed that he and Jay had arrived at the same unspoken conclusion. Jay closed his eyes and nodded wordlessly; tears leaked out from under his lids as he reached for Kim, who wrapped her arms around his waist and began sobbing in earnest. Nell clasped Tyler's hand and walked him forward to stand beside Kate, who picked up Tyler's other hand and placed it underneath his friend's. Her own fingers continued to rest lightly on top of Will's.

"How-how long…?" Jay asked of Thad.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Thad answered quietly, "Not long. Jeanine," he turned to the nurse, "let's put some oxygen on him so he can breathe a little easier, okay?"

Seeing Tyler and Jay's perplexity, Thad explained, "I'm fairly certain that Will's suffered a heart attack. If we don't correct the arrhythmia he's in, he'll most likely slip into a fatal rhythm here quite soon. Putting some oxygen on him won't prevent that, but it will keep him from struggling for air."

A sense of relief spread over Tyler in spite of his tremendous grief. They weren't going to do nothing, after all; they were going to make sure Will was as comfortable as possible until the end.

Over the next twenty minutes, while the nurse and Thad quietly moved about the room checking monitors and occasionally listening to Will's chest with stethoscopes, the friends stood around Will's bed, watching his breathing slow down and speed back up, slow down and speed back up. The mood was tense and somber; no one spoke.

Until then, Tyler had not allowed himself to recognize how bad Will really looked. He looked tiny lying in the enormous hospital bed. Kate kept him dressed in clean tee-shirts and sweat pants, but even the smallest sizes seemed to engulf him after the weight he had lost from the Morbus infection. Will had never been a big person, anyway, Tyler thought, feeling a surge of protectiveness for his friend. He and Jay had always teased Will about being skinny; secretly, they had agreed to watch out for him, afraid some jerk might decide to make himself feel macho by picking on someone smaller.

_If we'd only known – Will could have kicked anybody's ass who messed with him, or us…_

In spite of himself, Tyler almost smiled. He would have some fond memories of Will, he told himself, memories that would make him smile. But today, now, letting Will go hurt so terribly Tyler could hardly breathe.

Looking around at the others, Tyler knew they felt the same. He stood next to Kate, one arm around her slender waist to hold her upright as she seemed to be on the verge of collapse; she kept her fingers on top of Will's, lovingly caressing the back of his hand, her eyes never moving from his face. Across from them, Kim sat on the edge of the bed with one of Will's hands wrapped in her both of own. Jay stood just behind her, one hand on her shoulder and the other stroking Will's forehead, smoothing his sandy hair back from his brow. Nell sat near Will's feet, her palm placed gently over his knee, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

Tyler's free hand remained beneath Will's. In his friend's painfully-thin wrist, he could feel a tiny, fluttering pulse racing and skipping and, eventually, slowing.

They all jumped when the monitor's alarm sounded. Thad hurried to shut it off, answering their unspoken questions with a simple, "If you need to say anything to him, you should do it now."

_What do we say? How do we tell Will how much we love him, how much we're going to miss him?_

Kim spoke first, picking up Will's hand and placing it on her belly. "There's a couple of people here who would really have loved to meet you," she managed to say, her voice cracking. "I-I'm…I want you to know that I haven't forgotten what you told me, Will. About why we fight. I won't ever forget it. I love you…"

As sobs overcame her, Jay pulled his wife back against him, although the back of his hand was still pressed to Will's cheek. Tears in his voice, he declared, "You and Tyler are the best friends I've ever had, Will. You're my brothers. I don't know if you can hear us, but if you can, I just – I just want you to know that I'm glad you took that assignment. I'm glad we got to know you, no matter what all has happened. I love you, Will."

Tyler's whole body was trembling with the effort of holding back sobs. He knew if he broke down now, he would break down completely; he didn't want that, because he wanted to see Will through to the end, the way he knew his friend would have done for him.

He glanced at Nell, but she shook her head: She was crying too hard to speak. She merely leaned over and rested the side of her face against Will's leg, letting her tears soak through the sheet. Tyler placed the hand that wasn't holding Will's on top of her head, wishing he had some way to console her, knowing he didn't.

Will's breathing had become shallow and harsh. Tyler knew their time was running out. Squeezing his friend's hand, he collected his thoughts and tried to find the words to say goodbye.

"I remember the first day I met you, Will, and you said fate had brought the three of us together." Tyler met Jay's eyes across the bed. They both smiled through their tears, recalling their conversation about the Cubs in the Castle's then-empty foyer. "Well, we know that wasn't exactly the case, but in a way, I'm like Jay – I think it was. I think we were all supposed to meet, to help one another become who we are now.

"You'd say this wasn't true if you could talk to us, but I want you to know that you made me a better person, Will. Watching you go through everything you've gone through and seeing how much you still cared about everyone around you…You helped me find a purpose, a direction.

"Dad told me, the last time we talked, that I could trust you with my life," Tyler went on, some of the last words his father had ever spoken to him, mere hours before he was killed, echoing in his ears. "He said you were one of the most amazing human beings he had ever had the privilege of knowing. And he was right, Will. We're all – we're all going to miss you. I love you."

Tyler barely managed to get the last sentence out before the lump in his throat choked off his voice. Kate now leant her support to him, holding him up, seeming to grow stronger as the moment of Will's death approached. She wiped tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Will's breathing had become so shallow Tyler could hardly see his chest moving. The look on Thad's face told him they were seconds from the end.

Leaning down so her mouth was beside Will's ear, Kate murmured, "Don't be afraid now, Will. We're all here with you – Jay, and Tyler, and Kim, and Nell, and Thad. Liz couldn't be here but she's safe, too. You got us all through it – we're all okay. You can let go now. You finished your mission."

She pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. "I love you, Will Traveler."

As if in response, sigh escaped Will's lips. They all started, staring down at him as if he might suddenly open his eyes, as if they might get their miracle after all –

At the same instant, they all seemed to realize Will had just released his last breath.

"No," Kim sobbed, falling onto Will's chest. "No, oh no…"

"Shh," Jay soothed, stroking her hair. "It's okay, Kim. It's over."

Tyler and Jay both looked to Thad for confirmation of this. Stepping up to the bed, Thad pressed two fingers to Will's throat, then placed his stethoscope on his chest.

Moving back, he solemnly told them what they already knew.

"It's over. He's gone."

_Author's Note: Please do not threaten me with bodily harm for killing Will not once but twice - I promise, I have a reason for doing so. All will be revealed in the finale, which is coming soon…And thank you all, so very much, for the reviews – you've motivated me to keep writing and have guided the story's direction with your comments and suggestions. (Oh, and Song still gets a special shout-out!)_


	15. Chapter 15

**Episode 15:**

"**A New Day"**

**Part 1**

Hands folded in her lap, Kim sat on the front pew of a small chapel. Outside in the cemetery, a fierce January wind whipped snow across the tombstones; the temperature in Deer Harbor, Maine, was hovering at two degrees above zero. That was why Kim was inside while her husband, friends and the other mourners prepared for Will's graveside service: She had been ordered to wait where it was warm until they were ready.

Two days. Will had been gone two days. It still felt unreal, like a bad dream, or a story she had been told.

The chapel was quiet and picturesque. Kim supposed few people came here on a regular basis, yet someone kept the stone floor swept, the wooden pews dusted, the crucifix above the altar polished. A stained-glass window depicting Christ's ascension colored the gray winter light a soft rose, bathing the chapel in a soothing glow. Sitting there in the stillness, Kim, who was not particularly religious, closed her eyes and imagined a loving god looking down on her.

_Maybe here I can find forgiveness – and we can all find peace…_

Watching Will fade away – not just on that last, horrible day, but for weeks and months – had hurt her more than she had shared with anyone, even Jay. Kim had not wanted to be the one to say, _Let him go_, though she had thought it over and over again, sitting by his bed and wondering if he could hear her, if he was in pain. Even as part of her had clung to the belief that if anyone could get better, it would be Will, another part of her had asked, _And what would he wake up to? He's still trapped in this nightmare – he signed a pardon agreement that means he'll never really be free…_

Although she had not spoken to Kate of her feelings, it seemed that the other woman had picked up on them, because just over a week ago she had sought Kim out with a desperate plea. "You have to help me," Kate, hunched over a steaming mug of coffee in Jay and Kim's kitchen while Jay was at work, had begged after laying out her plan. She looked haggard; her eyes were ringed with dark circles, her skin chalky from fatigue. "Thad can get us what we need so far as the medicine goes, but Jay and Tyler have to agree not to resuscitate Will. It's the only way, don't you see that?"

Kim's mind had been whirling from all Kate had just told her. "You're asking me to lie to my husband, everyday, for the rest of my life," Kim had protested, her stomach in knots. "Of course I'd do anything for Will, but this…"

She had trailed off, feeling torn in half, before demanding, "Did Will ever talk to you about what to do in this situation? How can you even be sure it's what he would want?"

"Because I know him," Kate had tabled simply. "I studied him for two years, Kim. I've spent the last five months at his side, and before that I was with him, day in and day out, for an entire month, just the two of us. And do you know what I've seen every time I've looked at him for two and a half years, Kim?"

Wordlessly, Kim had shaken her head.

"I've seen a man who wants out. I've seen a good man who was deceived into a world of cruelty and murder and loss. I've seen a man who deserves to be free, Kim, once and for all."

Kim had felt her defenses crumble at that. How many times had she asked herself what would happen if Will did wake up? How many times had she dreaded watching him soldier on, doing what was right because that was what Will did, even though his heart and soul, unlike Kate's or Nell's, were no longer devoted to his work?

And so she had agreed. She had thrown herself in with Thad and Kate's desperate plot: She had promised to sway Jay and Tyler against saving Will's life at the crucial moment if need be; most importantly, she had vowed that she would never, ever tell them the truth…

Behind her, the chapel door opened and a blast of wintry air cut through her repose. Kim turned to see Liz Schultz, bundled up in a thick faux-fur coat provided by Senator Ingrid Dawson, hurrying down the aisle toward her. Despite the coat, the waifish girl looked half-frozen.

"Are we ready?" Kim asked, standing.

"Almost. Jay said wait just another minute or two." Liz shook a dusting of snowflakes from her long, dark curls and indulged in a full-body shiver. "It is so unbelievably cold out there! How are you holding up?"

Kim smiled wanly. Honestly, she didn't know what she would have done without Liz these past two days: It had been Liz who made the phone calls to people like Kensington and Dawson to inform them of Will's death, who arranged with the funeral home in Deer Harbor for Will's body to be transported there from New York, who (with Tyler's money, of course) scheduled a private jet for them to fly into a nearby regional airfield, who reserved hotel rooms in town for the night before. She had come to the Manhattan apartment as soon as Kim had called her, less than an hour after Will's passing, and she had hardly left Kim's side since.

"I've missed you," Kim said suddenly, realizing that, with all they had been dealing with, she hadn't actually told Liz that. "I've really, really missed you."

"I've missed you, too." Liz pulled Kim into a quick hug; they were both wearing such heavy coats they could barely fit their arms around one another, which made them laugh a little. Stepping back, Liz admitted, "I wanted to come by, see your new place, but…"

"You didn't want to run into Tyler," Kim finished for her. She hadn't missed the wounded look on Liz's face when she had seen Tyler crying in Nell's arms. "I understand. But you know, Jay and I have our own apartment – you can come right up the elevator to our floor, and you'll never have to see Tyler."

Blushing, Liz nodded. "I promise, I'll stop being a romantic coward and come visit you. I'm going to have to soon, when the babies get here!"

Kim patted her stomach, feeling one of the babies – she had a sixth sense that it was her son, though she couldn't know for sure – kick against her hand. "I am ready," she confessed with a groan, placing her hands on the small of her back. "I feel like a beached whale, I have to pee all the time, and my back…Ugh, sometimes I think I'm going to break in half."

Talking about the babies gave them something happy to focus on. For a few minutes, Kim was able to pretend that they were just two girlfriends having a normal motherhood-related conversation. All too soon, however, Thad stuck his head around the chapel door and announced, "We're all set, I think."

The air outside the chapel hit Kim like an icy wall. She ducked down as far into her down-lined, white leather coat as she could, yet in seconds, she was shivering. Thad took her arm and helped her maneuver along the slippery stone path leading from the chapel to the gravesite; on his other side, Liz was tucked up against his back, trying to stay upright while walking into the fierce wind.

A small, eclectic group stood around Will's casket. Andrew Kensington, Anita Walczak, and Harold Stone had flown up from Washington, D.C.; Ronald Darby, Senator Dawson, and Governor Howard had cleared their schedules to attend; and, of course, Tyler, Jay, Nell and Kate were all gathered there as well, to say their final goodbyes.

Kim met Kate's eyes as she approached. Their gazes locked only briefly before they each looked away.

Kim couldn't help noting that the weeks of vigilance at Will's beside had told on Kate. She was still beautiful, somber and regal in a tailored black dress underneath a heavy wool coat, but she looked older now, as if some of her fire had gone out. Kim understood how that could happen, for she now knew only too well that Kate carried the burden of many secrets which would have to be kept, forever…

_Don't think about that now. Think about Will. Think about him being free, finally, from all of this._

"You okay?" Jay asked as Kim reached his side. He draped his arm around her, holding her close for comfort and warmth.

Kim nodded, her eyes on the gorgeous, silver-trimmed black casket in front of them. Liz had ordered a breathtaking blanket of red roses for the grave flowers; the deep scarlet stood out beautifully against the casket's midnight surface and the graveyard's snow-covered stones.

Before melting away into the background, the undertaker stepped forward and plucked four of the roses from the casket, handing one each to Kate, Kim, Liz and Nell. Kim held hers between frozen fingers, knowing some of the chill she felt had nothing to do with the bitter temperatures.

Shivering, Kim couldn't help but think that Illinois, where it turned out Will was originally from, would have been warmer than northern Maine for a funeral in the middle of winter. Kate, however, had insisted that Will should be buried in Deer Harbor and, furthermore, that they should erect a double-stone for him and for Maya, though her body was gone.

"I think Deer Harbor was the only place besides New Haven where he was really happy," Kate had reflected, dabbing at her eyes shortly after two men from the coroner's office, accompanied by Thad, had removed Will's body from the apartment. "I think he'd rather his final resting place be there than in Red Bud – I don't know that he ever wanted to go home again. And Deer Harbor was home for Maya, and she deserves to be remembered, too."

Looking around at the remote forest that surrounded them, Kim was satisfied that they had made the right choice for Will. The cemetery offered a kind of seclusion, a cloistering away from the world; it was lonely without the sadness, if such a thing were possible. In any event, Kim thought Will would have approved.

They had also all agreed that Will's service should not be elaborate. None of them would have begrudged Will a king's rites, but Kate, Tyler, Jay and Kim had each voiced the opinion that Will would have wanted things simple. In the end, with Liz patiently asking questions so she could relay their desires to the Deer Harbor funeral home, they had decided on a graveside service only, with Jay providing the eulogy.

Which he now prepared to do. After kissing the top of Kim's head, Jay stepped away from her and walked to the head of the casket. Tyler immediately came to Kim's side and placed his arm where Jay's had rested around her shoulders. She slipped her arm around his waist, grateful for someone to lean on.

Thad stood beside Tyler, his arm linked through Liz's, who was crying freely. Nell had joined Kensington, Walczak, Stone, Darby, Dawson and Howard on the other side of the casket, probably, Kim mused, because she would have felt awkward standing next to Tyler's ex-girlfriend. Strange how such things could matter, even at a funeral.

Kate stood to Kim's right, closest to the casket, occupying what Kim couldn't help privately calling the "widow's seat." Spine rigid and jaw clenched, Kate appeared to be holding herself together only through a supreme force of will. Kim wished she could reach out to the other woman, but if she did, she was afraid they would both collapse under the weight of their combined burdens.

Jay cleared his throat. He had to speak loudly to be heard over the wind. "I know it would mean a lot to Will for all of us to be here today," he began. Kim smiled encouragingly at him even as tears stung her eyes, proud that her husband had the strength to perform such a difficult task. "He lived a pretty lonely life, and friends meant a great deal to him.

"It seems strange to be burying one of my best friends when, last year at this time, I thought our lives were just getting ready to start," Jay went on. Tyler began to cry quietly, and Kim pulled him closer. "I look back at that time now and I don't even recognize who I was then. We've all," his gaze took in Kate, Kim, Tyler, Thad, Liz and Nell, "changed so much in these past few months. Some of us have had to grow up. Each of us has lost people who were very dear to us. All of us have had to really, truly put our lives in each other's hands. We've seen things and done things I don't think most of us ever expected to see or do in our whole lives.

"And I guess I could say that a year ago today, I didn't know who Will Traveler was." Jay paused to clear his throat again. Kim knew he was fighting tears; her heart went out to him as she silently willed him to be strong, to get them through the last few steps of this terrible journey.

Composing himself, Jay continued, "But that wouldn't really be true. A year ago, I didn't know that Will was a spy. I didn't know that his name was really Liam Michael O'Connor. I didn't know that he was in love with a woman named Maya Kimball. But I did know that he was a kind, compassionate man, always ready with a laugh, always looking to make somebody smile, to make somebody feel welcome or accepted. I did know that he was a loyal friend, the guy you could always count on to come through for you no matter what, the person you wanted by your side when you were going through hell. I did know that he loved me, and that he loved Tyler, and that we each loved him."

Tyler turned his face into Kim's shoulder to muffle his sobs. She rubbed his back gently, her heart breaking for the pain he and Jay were both suffering.

_You can do this. You have to. Just hold on, just hang in there a little longer…_

Smiling slightly to herself, Kim recalled Will giving her that same encouragement on the night he had rescued her and Liz from Chambers' goons: _"Hang in just a little longer, Kim. This'll all be over soon, I promise." _Here they were, eight months later, and finally, Will was keeping his promise – like he always did.

"I thought for a long time about what to say up here today, how to find some way of helping us all find closure so we can move on, face a new day," Jay admitted.

He glanced at Kim, who nodded, pleased with the way he had chosen to say goodbye to Will: It was, in her opinion, absolutely fitting. She watched her husband take a deep breath and steel himself to continue.

In the short silence, Kim, now almost completely numb from the cold, let her mind wander back to that day when Kate had come to her to ask a favor, to recruit her into a plan that had sounded too crazy to be believed…

Even as she had agreed to assist Kate and Thad, knowing in her heart that theirs was the only way Will would ever be free, Kim had been plagued by doubts – the most pressing of which she had posed to Kate while sitting there in her warm, cozy kitchen.

"How can you be sure this medicine will work like it's supposed to?" Kim had demanded. "I know Thad is an excellent doctor, but…I don't know, this just sounds like something out of a spy novel to me, and it's Will's _life _we're dealing with here."

"I've done this once before, during an operation in Chicago," Kate had replied. "Freed was going to kill the teenage daughter of an associate who'd turned on him, started working for the CIA – I'd been tasked to study that associate, just like I was tasked to study Will, and I was actually the one who recruited him into the CIA. I'm not sure how Freed found out about the man's betrayal, but anyway, I couldn't very well do nothing while he murdered a child. So I volunteered to take care of it. I told him I felt 'responsible.'"

They had shared a smile at the irony in that. "And did it work?" Kim had pressed, hoping against hope, for Will's sake and her own, that the answer would be yes. "Did Freed believe she was dead, and you were able to bring her back?"

Kate had nodded. "Yes, in that case, it did work, I'm thankful to say. But it was a risk then and it's a risk now, Kim," she had gone on gravely. "I won't lie to you: If we do this, we could kill Will for real. The dosage has to be exact, it has to interact with Will's body chemistry in a certain way, we have to be able to administer the antidote within one hour or it's all over. A lot could go wrong, not to mention that his body could just give up, with all it's been through."

Heart pounding again, Kim had dropped her head into her hands and stared at the tabletop as if she might find some answers in the polished wood. She had given her word already; she wouldn't go back on it. And yet, to live the rest of her life with the weight of such a secret on her soul, to stand by Jay in his grief and never tell him what she knew – she hadn't known if she could live that way…

Kim came back to the present, to the frigid graveyard, as Jay pulled a battered paperback copy of Jack Kerouac's _On The Road_ from his coat pocket and held it up for all of them to see. Aside from Tyler and Kim, everyone else looked bewildered.

Jay explained, "Will handed me this just before we drove away from the Castle – that was what we called where we lived at Yale, for those of you who don't know – for the last time back in June. It seemed really appropriate then, because Tyler and I thought we were headed out on a roadtrip, just us three guys exploring the country for a few weeks before we all had to settle into being adults.

"Well, that roadtrip didn't end up quite like we'd expected." A few watery smiles appeared around the group. "But I found this book in Will's bag at the hotel after the Drexler bombing, and I held onto it. I didn't really know why; I just did, because it seemed like part of him, I guess. Then last night, when I was trying to think of what to say here today, I took it out and started flipping through it, and I found two passages Will had marked. I'd like to read them to you now."

Kim closed her eyes and called up a picture of Will's face, smiling down at her as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear before walking her down the aisle to marry Jay. As she listened to her husband, in her mind she heard Will's voice, low and soft and steady, reading along with him:

" 'The end of our journey impended. Great fields stretched on both sides of us; a noble wind blew across the occasional immense tree groves and over old missions turning salmon pink in the late sun. The clouds were close and huge and rose.'

" 'What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? It's the too-huge world vacating us, and it's goodbye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.'"

Jay closed the book. Taking his cue, the undertaker discreetly pressed a lever by his foot; at once Will's casket began to descend into the frozen ground.

Ever so slightly, Kate turned her head and met Kim's eyes. Her expression was unreadable – a mask of sorrow, guilt, and loss. Kim couldn't help wondering if those emotions were because Kate's plan had failed and the coffin disappearing below ground really contained Will's body, or because her plan had worked and she knew the grief all around her was needless.

_I don't want to know the answer to that. Not ever._

Before Kate had left the apartment that day, Kim had added one stipulation to her agreement. "You said there'll be no way to know if Will's going to pull through until after Thad gives him the antidote, right?" she had asked Kate, moving to the doorway.

Kate had nodded. "For all intents and purposes, Will is going to be dead when he leaves the apartment. Then Thad will try to bring him back."

"I understand that we can't bring Jay or Tyler in on this. I understand how dangerous it is for me and Thad to know about it, the danger it would put us in if anybody were ever to suspect that Will was alive," Kim had said slowly, a plan taking shape in her mind – a plan that would let her live with herself for what she was about to do to her husband and Tyler. "But I'm going to ask you for a favor, Kate."

Solemnly, Kate had replied, "Anything. Name it."

"I don't ever want you to tell me what happens. I don't want to know if Will makes it or if he's really gone."

Kim had struggled against tears as she spoke, imagining a time in the very near future when she would no longer have the hope of ever seeing or talking to Will again. "Once we do this, for me, I need to believe that he's gone. I need it to be over, so I can get on with my life with Jay and our son and daughter. I need to be able to say goodbye…"

_It is over now. We've said goodbye. And tomorrow will be a new day, for all of us._

Above the howling wind, the only sound in the cemetery was that of quiet crying. Glancing to her left, Kim saw through her tears that Thad had wrapped his arms around Liz and was comforting her. Nell came forward then, stepping purposefully around the casket and opening her arms to Tyler, who went to her readily, releasing Kim into Jay's embrace.

As they looked on, Kate stepped up to the edge of the grave, her eyes bright with unshed tears, to watch the casket descend. When it disappeared into the shadows, she brought the rose from Will's coffin to her lips and kissed the petals tenderly. Without saying a word, she let it fall into the darkness.

**Part 2**

_Two months later – ten months since Drexler bombing_

Shielded by the doorman's umbrella, Jay stepped out of the limousine and hurried into his building, out of the driving March rain. Spring in New York City was proving to be wet and cold; Jay was ready for summer.

But he had much more on his mind than the weather as he rushed through the luxurious lobby, waving hello to a few fellow tenants without stopping to chat. He didn't mean to be rude, but he was dying to get upstairs to tell Kim the good news.

He had passed the New York Bar Exam. He was now, officially, a lawyer.

Jay knew Kim would be surprised when he breezed in during the middle of the day. His work with Fog Industries' legal department usually kept him at the office until at least six o'clock; since the birth of the twins, however, Jay had refused to work any later than that. Other junior associates would have been drummed right out the door for such audacity. Fortunately, Jay's connection to the big bosses (namely, Tyler and Thad) made it possible for him to draw such lines without endangering his job.

"Kim?" he called, stepping off the elevator into the beautifully-appointed foyer. "Kim, you home?"

"Shh!" a voice hissed from upstairs. "I just got them down for a nap!"

Chastised, Jay tip-toed up the staircase and down the hall to the nursery, where he found Nell leaning over his daughter's crib, tucking a blanket around her. "Where's Kim?" Jay whispered from the doorway, startled to find super-spy/uber-journalist Nell baby-sitting.

Motioning him into the hallway, Nell waited until they were back to the staircase to answer at normal volume, "Kim got a call from the gallery. They wanted to know about the background on some of her prints. She said it'd only take a couple of hours, and we're having a slow news day, so I volunteered to look after the munchkins."

Disappointed that his wife wasn't home to share in his good news, Jay nevertheless felt a surge of pride at the reminder of how Kim's own career was taking off. In the months that Will had spent in Georgetown University Hospital's ICU, Kim had taken to wandering around Washington, D.C. (under full Secret Service guard, of course) with her camera. Jay knew she had desperately missed taking photographs during their eight weeks on the run; he hadn't begrudged her the creative and emotional outlet, especially when he saw the brilliance of the results.

Their experiences with the Fourth Branch had undoubtedly changed them all, yet Kim's photographs captured a side of her Jay was certain hadn't existed prior to the Drexler bombing. It was as if she saw the nation and its people through different eyes – eyes that had seen ultimate evil and supreme selflessness, eyes that appreciated the beauty in the everyday but also found the horror beneath the placid surface. Like any tourist, she had spent most of her time at the capitol's landmarks and memorials, but she had viewed those with such sensitivity and subtlety that her pictures seemed to breathe new life into the familiar images. For instance, one of her first photographs had shown a filthy, mangy stray dog lying at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial, like a bedraggled, cast-off companion waiting patiently for his stone master to awake. The image was beautiful and shocking at the same time, arousing awareness of the crippling poverty that plagued so much of their country.

Once they returned to New York, Kim had continued to take photographs. She had visited the Drexler renovations, which were now well underway; she had gotten as close to Ground Zero, near the World Trade Center, as she could; she had gone to the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building. All of her photographs displayed gorgeous yet thought-provoking images of these pieces of American iconography.

Of all her pictures, Jay's favorite was of the Arlington Memorial Bridge – the bridge from which Will had leapt in his attempt to save them all. Kim had stood on the bank near the spot where, Kate had shown her, Will had been pulled from the river. With a long-range lens, she had photographed the bridge from beneath: The resulting picture showed the granite-hued bridge standing out in stark contrast against a brilliantly-blue autumn sky, while ominous dark clouds rolled in to blot out the sun. The angle of the camera had also allowed her to capture a sliver of the Potomac underneath the bridge; although the water was mostly dark thanks to the approaching storm, a single shaft of sunlight had illuminated one small patch, giving the impression of a heavenly light being directed into the depths.

Whenever Jay looked at that picture now, he liked to think that the light represented Will's spirit, shining down on them from a place of peace.

At his insistence, shortly before the twins were born Kim had taken her work to a few of the galleries in New York City. Within days, gallery owners had been clamoring to do a show, asserting that her photographs were some of the most amazing they had ever seen. Jay hadn't been surprised, though Kim had been – he had always known how talented she was.

_Carlton was right: There's no success like New York success._

"Are you home for the rest of the day?" Nell, settling herself on the couch in Jay and Kim's living room, sounded almost reluctant to have her baby-sitting time cut short.

"I just came home to tell Kim some good news," Jay admitted. "I have to get back soon."

He lingered in the doorway of the room, wondering if he should go in and sit down. He and Nell had not been alone together since the night of Abrams' murder. They had never spoken of the incident, but Jay was afraid that if he gave her the opportunity, Nell would bring it up. Since he had no idea what to say about his actions – sometimes he thought he had done the right thing, other times he was consumed with guilt – Jay sincerely did not want to have that conversation.

"So what's the good news?" Nell inquired over her shoulder.

Jay just didn't have it in him to be rude enough to stand in the doorway talking to Nell's back. Resignedly crossing to a fan-backed chair beside the couch, he replied, "I passed the bar."

Nell's smile lit up her eyes. "That's great, Jay! Congratulations." She offered him a flirtatious wink that Jay took for what it was – Nell being Nell, as she had always been. "So you're big stuff now, I guess. A big-time lawyer."

"I don't know about that," Jay answered modestly. "But it is nice to have my license. Now I can start doing something more than researching for the senior partners – I may even get my own cases pretty soon."

"Will would be really proud of you, you know."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Jay found himself overcome by grief at the oddest times; he could be walking down the street, thinking of a million other things, when suddenly, the loss of Will would hit him like a freight-train. Now, as he imagined Will's face breaking into a smile at his news, much as Nell's had moments before, Jay couldn't help but blink away tears.

Nell cleared her throat, looking misty-eyed herself. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to bring up anything sad. You should be celebrating."

"No, don't apologize. I think we'll always be a little sad when good things happen," Jay mused. "I still wish my dad was here to share in things like this, or my wedding or my children being born, and it still makes me sad that he can't be. It'll always be the same with Will, I think."

Nodding, Nell steered them toward more pleasant waters. "We have our own Little Will now, though. You have the cutest damn kids I've ever seen, Jay, you really do."

Jay swelled with pride. His babies were adorable, if he did say so himself. Little Will, as he and Kim had taken to calling William Tyler almost from the moment of his birth, had dark hair and dark eyes like his father; Kaitlyn Elizabeth, nicknamed Katie Beth by her doting Uncle Tyler, had a thick head of blondish-brown hair like her mother but the same dark eyes as her older (by two minutes) brother. Despite the long, late nights and the endless cycle of bottle-feedings and diaper changes, which left both Jay and Kim exhausted, Jay loved being a dad, and he knew Kim loved being a mom. They were even talking about getting pregnant again once the twins turned a year old, so they could get the diaper and potty-training phases out of the way all at once.

"I'm a lucky guy," Jay agreed, looking around at his lovely home, picturing his beautiful children asleep upstairs, thinking of his gorgeous wife out planning her artistic debut. "I've got everything I ever wanted. How many people can say that before they're thirty?"

"Not many. But you've earned it, Jay. You're a good man."

Nell's eyes locked with Jay's, and he felt his heart stumble in his chest as he waited for her to go on, for her to say, out loud, _Even though you killed someone. _When she didn't, however, it dawned on Jay that what Nell was trying to tell him was that she agreed with his decision.

_Fathers protect their children; husbands protect their wives. I did what had to be done. Just like my father, and Marlow, and Will._

Suddenly, the hesitance Jay had felt about Nell's trustworthiness since learning of her involvement with Hometown and the CIA seemed foolish and unfair. He found himself rather ashamed that, even after Kim had given over being angry with Nell, he had continued to doubt her. She had proven herself; he owed her the same second chance he had been eager to give Will.

"Have you heard from Kate lately?" Jay asked, leaning back in his chair as the tension he usually felt around Nell evaporated. "She sent us a card and some baby clothes a couple of weeks ago, but we haven't spoken to her in a while."

Seeming to sense the change in his demeanor, Nell relaxed more herself. "Yeah, she called a few days ago. She said she likes being back in D.C. I think Kensington better walk the chalk, though," Nell added, rather conspiratorially. "It's not that she says anything outright, but I get the feeling Kate's got eyes on him and the other Branch members that they don't know anything about."

Jay was certain of that. When Kate had taken her leave of them mere hours after Will's funeral, she had told both Jay and Tyler privately that they shouldn't worry about the Branch – she had it covered. Something in her steely gaze had convinced Jay that as long as Kate was alive, he and his family and his best friend would have nothing to fear from their old enemies: If the Branch tried to make a comeback or any of its members got up to their old tricks, Kate would be on them in a second.

"Do you miss it?" Jay found himself asking Nell. "Being a spy, I mean, like Kate."

Nell smiled cattily at him. "What makes you think I'm not a spy anymore, Jay?"

"How in the world would you have time to spy on anybody while you're running one of the fastest-growing media outlets in the world?" Jay shot back. He was surprisingly unbothered by Nell's evasive, perhaps even telling answer. If she was still working for Kensington, he supposed she would have good reason to do so.

"I don't," Nell confessed. "I thought for a while I probably wouldn't get out entirely – I mean, it's hard to imagine being anybody other than a spy after you've done it for seven years. But once I was out, damn, it felt good to be free. I like my life now. No," she corrected, grinning, "I should say, I _have _a life now. One of my own."

Jay had to admit that journalism suited Nell: She had the wit, intelligence, charm and tenacity for it. He also had to admit that she suited Tyler better than he had wanted to believe she would. They hadn't made anything official yet, but Jay and Kim remarked after every double-date (of which there were many, though not as often since the twins were born a month ago) that it was only a matter of time before Nell landed her man for good. Tyler was obviously crazy about her, just like he had been at Yale.

The mantle clock behind Jay struck two, reminding him of the time and his responsibilities at work. "I'd better get back," he said. He stood and stretched. "You mind staying until Kim gets home, or should I call the nanny service?"

"I'm good," Nell replied. Grinning, she added, "Don't tell anybody – it'd ruin my hardcore image – but I really like kids."

_Will loved kids, too, I remember him saying. I wonder if all spies are so soft underneath those hard exteriors…_

Jay headed for the door. Nell called after him, "Should I tell Kim to call you when she gets back?"

"No," Jay decided. "I want to tell her in person."

"You got it. My lips are sealed."

Her words caused Jay to hesitate, remembering the last secret he had asked Nell to keep from Kim – and realizing, with a rush of gratitude, that she had. He paused to watch Nell disappearing up the stairs, headed to check on the babies. Thinking of her loyalty and Kate's protectiveness, Jay was reminded that the last orders Will had given were for the two of them to look after his old roommates. Both women had held to that mission, Jay thought, especially once Will couldn't.

Believing that somewhere, somehow, his friend could hear him, Jay whispered, "You left us in good hands, Will. I hope wherever you are, you're as happy as the rest of us."

**Part 3**

_Seven weeks later – one year anniversary of Drexler bombing_

The cemetery at Deer Harbor was deserted when Tyler and Jay arrived. Tyler was surprised by how different the graveyard looked in the golden summer sun; he had remembered it as a cold, desolate place, frozen beneath a blanket of snow, when really it was a lovely spot on top of a green, grassy hill surrounded by dense, leafy trees.

A wrought-iron fence enclosed the cemetery. From the arched gate, six flagstone paths branched off amidst the tombstones, many of which were so old the writing on them had long since been worn away to smooth stone. A stone chapel with a statue of Mary above a red wooden door stood in the very center of the small graveyard, accessible by a paved path that ran inward directly from the main entrance.

"It looks different than before," Jay observed, pushing open the gate. The hinges creaked in protest. "I mean, obviously, since it was the middle of winter…"

"Yeah, but I know what you mean," Tyler said. "I guess I remembered this place as kind of, I don't know, disturbing or something." He looked around, taking in the yellow butterflies flitting between stones and the wild roses crawling up the fence. "It's really nice, though."

Together, the two friends walked down the second path to their right. Tyler found that he was strangely nervous; being here, seeing Will's grave for the first time since the funeral, made the loss of his friend more real somehow. Not that he hadn't yet accepted Will's death – he had. But standing where his friend was buried…It just felt odd.

"Wow," Jay murmured, stopping a few steps ahead of Tyler and gazing down at the ground. "Liz did an amazing job designing the stone, didn't she?"

Stepping up beside his friend, Tyler had to admit that his former lover (he still experienced a pang of regret whenever he thought of Liz, so he tried not to) had certainly employed all of her artistic talent to adorning Will's final resting place. The square headstone was made of solid black granite flecked with gray; amidst the rows of white stones, the black stood out sharply.

On either side of the headstone were mounted two black vases, each containing a lovely spray of wildflowers. Tyler couldn't help wondering who had been there to put flowers on the grave; his most immediate assumption was Kate, though Deer Harbor was quite a ways from D.C.

The right side of the stone bore Will's real name, _Liam Michael O'Connor, _and his dates of birth and death; the other side bore Maya's full name, _Maya Renee Kimball, _and the dates of her birth and death. Liz had instructed the engravers to carve a beautiful, blooming rose in the center of the stone, with vines curling out from its stem to circle the names, giving the impression that the flower was joining the young couple.

And on the back of the stone, Jay and Tyler saw when they moved around behind it, was engraved a small sailboat.

_They finally got to sail away together…_

Remembering the funeral pyre Will had built for Maya, Tyler blinked away tears. He was grateful to Liz for putting so much care and thought into Will's tombstone, yet that didn't change the fact that he wished, with all of his heart, that Will and Maya could be there with them, together in life instead of in death.

For just a moment, Tyler let himself imagine that Will and his beloved had survived. He closed his eyes and pictured Maya, her belly round with their first child, bouncing Little Will on her knee; he saw Will standing behind her, smoothing her hair and smiling proudly, a gold wedding band glinting on his finger. It could have been so perfect, the three roommates living next door to one another, their wives (Tyler had to admit, an image of Nell flashed in his mind when he thought of being married) best friends, their children growing up like siblings.

Finding the fantasy too painful in light of reality, Tyler opened his eyes and followed Jay around to the front of the stone. "I guess we should do this," Jay suggested uncertainly.

Tyler took over, sensing that Jay was unsure how to go about talking to the dead – something Tyler had gotten used to, carrying on conversations with his father and, more recently, with Will in his mind. He supposed some people might find that crazy; he found it comforting.

"Hi, Will," Tyler said, kneeling in front of the stone. Jay stood beside him, eyes on the grass covering Will's grave. "We felt like we should be here today, because it's the one-year anniversary of when this all started – for us, anyway.

"We wanted to tell you that we miss you, but we're doing all right," Tyler went on. In his mind's eye, he pictured Will standing just behind the headstone, nodding solemnly at his words. "You should see Jay's kids. They're gorgeous. We've got a namesake, you and I: William Tyler. We call him Little Will. He's a wild man – when he starts crawling, look out. And then there's Katie Beth. Kaitlyn Elizabeth. She's so pretty, just like her mom. Thad's her godfather – I'm Little Will's, guess they think I'll keep him in line or something – and he's already worried about beating the boys off of her.

"Kim's doing really well. She had her first gallery show two months ago, and it was a huge hit. She's got publishers calling her wanting to put together a book of her photographs. She's gonna be more famous than all of us before this is over, I think.

"Oh, and Jay's a real lawyer now." Tyler grinned up at his friend, who blushed a little. "He keeps me from getting sued about a dozen times a day. Dad's business is doing really well. I think he'd like the direction I'm taking the company. Man, I wish you could see us, Will," Tyler concluded thoughtfully, picturing how he and Jay, in their expensive suits and silk ties, would look to their old friend. "We're all grown up. I think you'd be proud of both of us."

Jay cleared his throat. Tyler glanced up, expectant. Looking slightly awkward, Jay said to the headstone, "We, uh, we wanted you to know, too, Will, that we've kept up the work you started. Against the Fourth Branch, I mean. Tyler's doing a lot with the press, making sure the truth really gets reported and that people are looking in the dark corners where guys like Jack Freed try to hide. And I've, uh, I've been working with Harold Stone quite a bit, giving him advice about prosecuting the Branch members they've got in custody. They've got people at Justice who are all over this, of course, but Harold trusts my opinion, I guess, since I've got a personal stake in it…"

"Nell and Kate are still looking after us," Tyler added. "Just like you asked them to. But I think we're pretty safe anymore, so you don't have to worry. I suppose that's what we really came here to tell you – that we miss you, and we love you, and we're all okay."

A sense of peace came over Tyler as he spoke. Glancing up, he half-expected to see Will standing across from him, giving him that trademark "didn't I tell you this would work" grin he'd always had whenever they successfully pulled off some prank. Although of course the graveyard was empty, Tyler couldn't shake the feeling that his words had been heard, and that somehow, Will was letting them know he was all right, too.

Tyler got to his feet and moved to stand beside Jay. "He was a good guy, wasn't he?" Tyler mused.

"He was. Our Will." Jay's voice reflected his sudden smile. "Remember how he used to do that like chicken-dance thing whenever the Cubs won?"

Laughter bubbled up from deep inside Tyler as he recalled Will strutting around the Castle's living room, shaking his backside and jerking his elbows backward and forward. "How could I forget? That image is seared into my brain," Tyler groaned. "Like that time he got so drunk at our Halloween party that he fell down the stairs. Do you remember that?"

Jay was laughing, too. "Jesus, I thought he'd broken his neck," he recalled. "And there he was at the bottom, blood running out of his nose, laughing his skinny butt off, calling for another beer like it didn't hurt at all." Jay's eyes had a far-off look, as if the scene were replaying behind them. "I also seem to remember that stupid friend of Kim's – what was her name, Chloe? – offered to give him some TLC. Poor Will."

Their laughter slowly died away, but in its wake was a warm glow that buoyed Tyler's spirits. He had dreaded this visit, he could admit that; standing there with his best friend, remembering the good times they had shared with Will, he realized that it had been necessary, however. They needed closure. They would never forget Will – he would be part of their lives forever. But they had to move on to the next stage, to the part of their lives that wouldn't be dominated by the Fourth Branch, to the memories they would make that would not, from this point on, include Will.

_"It doesn't work like that for me," _Will had told his friends the night Freed died. Tyler understood now that, even if Will had survived, even if he had woken from his coma in perfect condition, life still wouldn't have "worked" for him like it had for Jay and Tyler. Their plans to simply adopt Will into their big, happy family had been, Tyler saw, hopelessly naïve, like his fantasy of Will and Maya living the American dream in Manhattan. Will's past would have haunted him forever. He would never have been able to lead a normal life.

_I still miss him. I'd rather have him here – but I'm glad he's at peace. _

"Well," Jay said, the pitch of his voice telling Tyler that he was speaking to Will once more, "I guess we'd better go. We're headed to New York for the dedication ceremony at the newly-restored Drexler Museum. You'll be happy to know that Tyler here is the keynote speaker. I think we may get another standing ovation from the president, even."

Tyler walked forward and placed his hand on top of Will and Maya's tombstone, feeling the warmth of the sun's rays soaking into his palm. "We'll come visit again soon, Will," he promised.

With that, there was nothing left to say. The two best friends draped their arms around one another's shoulders and, knowing they would return to this place time and again as the years passed by, they walked away.

**Part 4**

The young man stood on a deserted stretch of sunlit beach, staring out across the white-capped waves breaking against the shore. A warm, salty breeze ruffled his sandy-colored hair; damp sand stuck to his bare, brown toes and ankles. The far-off look on his handsome face suggested that his thoughts were a million miles away from paradise, on something even more pleasant, if that was possible.

Beside him, a beautiful chocolate Labrador sat patiently, looking out at the water intently, as if trying to see whatever it was his master saw. The dog wagged his tail happily when the young man absently scratched his ears. Beyond that, however, the dog did not move; he did not leave his master's side.

It had been five months since the young man had come to reside on this isolated beach on the sparsely-populated western coast of Australia. During that time, he had come to feel at home inside his small, spartan cottage near the shore; he rather liked the seclusion and the quiet, the way the house carried within it the smell of the ocean, how it told its stories in groans and creaks late at night when the wind blew stiffly off the water. He had fallen easily into a routine here: up each morning at dawn, a six-mile run down the beach and back, a light breakfast, a day spent working and reading and researching inside the cottage (occasionally on the porch's hammock, if the day was particularly beautiful), a late-afternoon swim, a half-hour of quiet reflection while the sun slipped beneath the horizon, a light supper, a little more work and then a solid, peaceful night's sleep.

He had always loved simplicity. Now, he found that he thrived on it.

The months of rest and recuperation had dramatically changed his appearance since his arrival. He had gained around ten pounds; he was still thin, but he now had the leanly-muscled look of a dedicated runner instead of the gauntness of someone recovering from a long illness. His skin was tanned a deep nut-brown and his hair, still short though a little shaggier than he typically wore it (not to mention permanently mussed from his habit of running his hands distractedly through it while he worked), was streaked golden-blonde from days spent beneath the tropical sun. Wearing a threadbare white tee-shirt and ripped, loose-fitting jeans, he had the scruffy, sun-kissed look of someone who had lived on the beach his whole life.

Some things would never fully heal, of course. A long, thick surgical scar ran the length of his right shin-bone, starting below the knee and ending at the top of his foot. Despite the intense running regimen, he still sometimes found it difficult to put weight on that leg, now and then having to walk with the aid of a wooden cane. He had other scars as well, some small, others vivid, like those on the inside of his right forearm: Starkly-white against his tanned skin, six slender scars were still plain to see – O-L-I-V-I-A.

He was a marked man. But he didn't need scars to remind him of the past; he held his memories close, drawing strength from them. Each day, as the sun made its final pass across the sky, he summoned that strength to send his energy out across the waves to those he had left behind.

_Jay, Tyler, Kim, Liz, Nell: Be safe…Be happy…_

_Maya: I miss you, oh how I miss you…I love you…_

At his side, the dog suddenly began to quiver. The young man opened his eyes, his hand instinctively moving to his hip where a combat knife, hidden by the hem of his tee-shirt, was strapped. Yet something in the Labrador's demeanor told him even before he turned that they weren't facing an enemy.

"Good boy, McCullough," he murmured, patting the dog's head. "You see somebody we know, huh?" The dog barked sharply in response, barely able to contain his excitement. "You wanna go get her? Huh? Well, then…Go get her!"

Instantly, the dog bounded off across the sand toward the slender woman who had just walked around the side of the cottage. Clad in light, carmel-colored linen pants and an ice-blue tank-top, with her blonde curls caught up in a high ponytail and her pretty face scrubbed free of makeup, she too could have passed for a life-long beachcomber, he thought.

McCullough danced around her, barking. The woman laughed and patted his head, shouting over the roar of the surf, "Call off your dog, would ya?"

The young man called back, "He's missed you, what can I say?"

_I have, too. I didn't really expect that…_

Agent Kaitlyn Westbrook stuck her hands into her pockets and smiled almost shyly at the young man who had decided, partly for her sake and partly because it simply felt right, to formally adopt the name Will Traveler. Not that it mattered much, since Kate (as he would always think of her) was one of only two people on earth who knew he was alive, and the only person who knew he was on this stretch of beach.

Someday, Will might rejoin the world. For now, he was happy being, essentially, dead.

"I didn't expect you until later," Will went on, leading Kate up the porch steps and into the cottage. "Did you catch an earlier flight or something?"

"No, I just made good time on the drive." Kate paused to look around the room. Rather sardonically, she commented, "I like what you've done with the place."

The cottage was divided into four rooms. The largest, the living room, opened directly into a galley-style kitchen that contained a refrigerator, stove, and a few cabinets, as well as a bar that served as the table. To the right of the living room was a small bedroom, empty except for a queen-sized bed, a steamer trunk full of weapons, and a dresser full of clothes; a closet-sized bathroom with a sink, shower and commode was tucked into the bedroom's far left corner.

The living room was where Will spent most of his time. Against the outer wall, a long wooden table (purchased from a butcher's shop in Sydney) held boxes upon boxes of file folders; it was flanked by two tall filing cabinets, each filled to capacity. In the center of the room was a long sofa, a coffee table, and a recliner. The coffee table held Will's laptop. A PC, scanner, fax machine, telephone and printer were housed at a computer workstation on the wall adjoining the bedroom.

"Interior decorating was never my thing," Will admitted, moving around her to the kitchen. He was surprised by how nice it was to have company after six weeks by himself. Living halfway around the world, Kate didn't often get a chance to visit in person; she had only been to the cottage twice (this trip making her third time) in the five months since she had delivered him, still weak and frail from months spent in a coma, to this isolated stretch of coast. They spoke on the phone everyday and emailed frequently, their work requiring that they remain in regular contact, but it wasn't the same as seeing her in person.

Maybe he was a little lonelier than he'd thought. Or maybe, it was just her he missed.

He realized, with a small jolt somewhere in the region of his heart, that it was the first time such a thought had crossed his mind without being followed by a crippling stab of guilt over betraying Maya's memory.

"You hungry?" Will asked Kate, who was seated on the sofa rubbing McCullough's belly. The dog looked as if he might faint from happiness. "I've got fish, fish, and more fish, or some pasta – let's see, there's a frozen pizza up here, but it's probably a month old now – uh, looks like maybe some wine, and beer…"

"What exactly do you subsist on?" Kate inquired teasingly. She walked into the kitchen and settled onto one of the tall bar stools, watching with bemusement as Will searched through cabinets. "Just fish and beer? No wonder you're still so skinny."

"Hey," Will protested good-naturedly, "I am not 'skinny.' I'm lithe. And for your information," he added, feigning defensiveness, "I usually keep around some fruit and vegetables and milk and all that good stuff, but I got busy with that surveillance footage you sent me yesterday and missed the market truck."

Once a week, Will walked the three miles from his cottage to the highway, where an elderly man and his wife sat up a roadside stand to sell milk, eggs, apples, grapes, lettuce, broccoli, and so forth to the residents of this remote beach. There weren't many of them. Kate had scouted the location thoroughly before bringing Will to it, knowing that their plan's success depended on hiding him away completely; aside from perhaps a dozen other souls, most of them old and poor, no one lived near Will for almost two hundred miles. But apparently that was enough people to make the man and his wife bother stopping for a few hours to hock their goods before they continued on down the highway in their beat-up truck.

"Let me do this. You got sit." Kate waved Will away from the cabinets and took over the supper preparations, asking as she did so, "Were you able to find out anything about the man Kensington was meeting with?"

Will found that he quite enjoyed watching Kate cook: She knew her way around a kitchen, even one with meager fare like his. In short order, she assembled three good-sized pieces of white fish (always a good fisherman, Will had become an expert in the past months, so his freezer was well-stocked), a bowl of long-grain rice, and a few heads of broccoli on the counter. While he talked, she went about combining her ingredients, as well as some spices pulled from the back of a cabinet, in a large stew-pot on the stove.

"The guy's name is Hadley Kruger," he began.

"That's tragic," Kate commented, causing Will to snort with laughter. "Sorry, go on."

"Our tragically-named Mr. Krueger is a former employee of Carlton Fog's, from Dante Defense Systems," Will explained. He crossed to the fridge and retrieved a Heineken, offering one to Kate, who gratefully accepted. Sitting back down, he continued, "Far as I can tell, Kensington was up-front with you about the meet: Krueger worked in R&D at Dante Defense, and he may have been involved in developing a suitcase nuke for the Pentagon. And by Pentagon," Will clarified, "I mean the Fourth Branch."

Wonderful aromas were coming from the stove, causing Will's stomach to growl. McCullough lay at his feet, drooling.

Kate leaned against the far counter sipping her beer, considering what Will had learned. "So Kensington was probably telling the truth – he wanted to meet with this man to see if the Fourth Branch had ever managed to obtain a nuclear weapon."

"That's what it looks like from here," Will replied. "I hacked Krueger's email – that's how Kensington contacted him the first time, I gather – so we'll know if they meet again. I'll keep an eye on them."

"I'll see if I can get a tap on Krueger's cell," offered Kate, stirring the soup. "I'd like to know if he's still in touch with any of the other Branch members."

While Kate took down bowls and rummaged around in drawers for two clean spoons, Will reflected that they did, as Kate had once observed, make a good team. He had been a little skeptical at first about how much good they could do operating oceans and continents apart. Thanks to their combined technological prowess, however, they had engineered an efficient system via which Kate set up wiretaps and video and audio surveillance which were transmitted to Will's computer over a secure network; while she kept up appearances with Kensington and the other Branch members, seeming to dutifully follow orders and calmly accept their versions of events, Will worked feverishly on his end to make sure that Kensington and his compatriots were not slipping back into their old habits.

Thus far, things had gone smoothly. Kate carried out her missions once Will confirmed that all was in order, and Kensington had no reason to suspect that she was actually spying on him and his partners as well.

Nor did any of the Branch members know that Will was alive. In fact, the only other person who knew for certain (Will supposed Kim had her suspicions) was Thad Fog, without whom, Kate had confessed to Will, their plan could never have worked…

Five months ago, Will had awoken to find himself lying on a cot inside an abandoned warehouse on the New York docks which had been transformed into a pseudo-clinic. Thad Fog had stood over him, checking his pulse; white-faced and trembling, Kate had leaned over Will, whispering that everything was okay.

"What-what happened?" Will managed to croak, his throat almost too dry to speak. His head felt fuzzy; his limbs were too weak to move; his eyes stung from the sunlight streaming in through the grime-coated windows. "Where am I?"

Kate pressed a straw to his lips, and Will gratefully sipped some ice water. "You've been in a coma," Kate explained, proceeding to fill him in on the events of the past half-year. When she finished, she prompted, "Do you remember anything that's happened to you, Will?"

He closed his eyes and cleared his mind. "I remember…I remember Abrams. He was threatening Kim. And the National Mall…"

An image of the Potomac River rushing up to meet him filled Will's mind. Involuntarily, he shuddered at the memory of the intense, blinding pain that had ended his fall.

"I think I jumped."

"You did," Thad confirmed. "After swallowing a phial full of Morbus. You came as close to dying as somebody can and live to tell the tale, my friend."

Maya. Will suddenly saw her face, smiling down at him as he reclined on a sunny beach. "I-I thought I _was_ dead," he confessed, looking from Thad to Kate. "But if I'm alive, why am I here? Why am I not in the hospital or something?"

"Two weeks ago, your muscle and eye activity, as well as your brain functions and cardiac rhythms, began to indicate that you might be trying to wake up," Thad explained, sounding every bit the medical professional. "Kate's been by your side every minute of the past six months practically, so she noticed the changes right away. She came to me to ask if I would help her make it so no one else would know if you did wake up."

Bewildered, Will looked at Kate. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I knew if you woke up, Kensington would force you to stick to your plea agreement," Kate answered simply. She placed a protective hand over his. "I don't want to see these people hurt you anymore, Will. You've had enough. I want to get you out."

"Kate told me about an operation she'd been involved in before, where she needed the people she was working with to believe that a young girl was dead. She said she gave the girl a very powerful barbiturate, sort of a synthetically-produced Pentothal, which is what we use to put patients to sleep for surgery. That caused the girl to slip into a deep, deep coma, essentially repressing respiratory and cardiac function to the point that she appeared, even to doctors, to be clinically dead," Thad went on. Will tried hard to focus on the young man's words, but it was difficult with his head buzzing like he had a terrible hang-over.

"Of course, just as when you put patients under for surgery, with this kind of a drug the risk is that the dose will be too high and the patient won't wake up. So Kate asked me to administer the medicine, then to declare you legally dead and get you out of the apartment so I could wake you back up. Which," Thad finished proudly, "I have."

Will stared up at both of them, wondering if they had lost their minds. "You mean, everybody thinks I'm dead? What about Jay? And Tyler? And Kim?"

Kate bit her lip. Abruptly, Will took in how exhausted she looked; he wondered if Thad had been serious when he'd said she hadn't left his side in months. "I'm sorry, Will," she began, her voice thin and wounded. "I thought…I was trying to do what was right for you. I'm sorry. I've made a mess of things."

She turned to Thad, sounding resigned. "We'll have to go back. Pack him up and go back. Tell the others what I did. I promise, Thad, I won't let them know you were in on it – "

"Wait."

The wheels inside Will's mind were turning. With the awful shock of waking up only to learn that everyone he loved, everyone he had left his heaven with Maya to come back to, believed he was dead starting to wear off, he couldn't deny the wisdom in Kate's viewpoint: The instant the remaining Fourth Branch members learned he was not only alive but also awake, he would be locked into the agreement he had made with them. He would have no choice but to spend the rest of his life in their service.

"I don't want to go back," he said quietly, his eyes meeting Kate's. "It's better this way, for them to think I'm gone. I never meant to stay, after it was all over."

Weakness washed over him. In spite of himself, Will moaned. "What's wrong with me? Why do I feel so weak?"

"It's okay," Thad assured him, checking his pulse again. "It's normal. Some of it's the after-effects of the medicine, and some of it's being in a coma for six months after jumping off a bridge and infecting yourself with anthrax. You've still got a long road ahead of you, Will, before you're back on your feet…"

And that was when Kate had told him the rest of her plan, that she and Thad would take turns looking after him until his "funeral" was over, and then she would come for him and take him to a safe place. A place where he could rest. A place where he could decide if he wanted to still fight the Branch, or if he wanted to go his own way, perhaps even somewhere that she wouldn't know where he was, to spend his days in absolute freedom.

Two days in Australia had convinced Will that he would go crazy without his work. Besides that, he was by then quite furious with the Fourth Branch for everything he had suffered and continually concerned for the safety of his friends, whom he could no longer be with to protect. Less than twenty-four hours after she had flown back to D.C. that first time, Will had called Kate to tell her that he was in – mail him a computer, he had said, and they would get started.

Now, sipping a delicious stew with her on the cottage's porch swing while the night air grew cool around them, Will reflected that he had made the right decision. He was happy in this life he had made. It beat serving masters he hated or changing addresses and identities every few months, which would have been his options had Kate not helped him really, truly escape.

The only bad part of his new life was how much he missed his old roommates. "How is everybody?" Will asked, tossing a sliver of fish to McCullough, who was looking on hungrily from the porch steps.

"They're good. Did you get the audio file from the graveyard that I sent you?"

Will smiled, remembering Jay and Tyler's words, touched once more by how deeply they still cared for him. Kate had installed a small recording device in one of the headstone's vases, the idea being that if anyone got suspicious of their story and decided to exhume Will, they would have some warning. An unforeseen benefit for Will was that whenever Kim, Liz, Jay or Tyler visited – which they did, especially Liz (to his surprise), quite often – he was able to hear the messages they wanted to give him.

"Oh, and I brought pictures of the babies," Kate went on. "They're in the car. I'll get them later. You won't believe how cute they are."

"Must look like Kim," Will joked, earning himself a playful punch on the shoulder.

They sat together for a long time after dinner, talking about Jay and Tyler and Kim and Nell, discussing the latest developments in the Branch members' trials, worrying over the future of their country. Eventually, Will retrieved a blanket from the couch; the evenings were unexpectedly chilly in this part of the world. They wrapped up in it together, their knees and shoulders touching, while they sipped cheap red wine and watched the waves roll in off the ocean. McCullough, content to have both of his people nearby, napped on the steps.

At long last, Kate stretched. "I'm beat," she admitted. "That flight is a killer. I'm going to take over your couch for tonight, if that's okay."

"You can have the bed. Don't argue, it's my house," Will tabled. He stood up and helped Kate to her feet; she swayed a little, tipsy from the wine, and ended up pressed against Will's chest.

_Kaitlyn Westbrook and me and wine. Never a good combination._

Strangely, Will found that he wasn't particularly concerned about the situation, like he used to be whenever the possibility of time alone with an uninhibited Kate had presented itself. He steadied her by slipping his arm around her waist. Looking down into her face, he noticed how her freckles clustered around her nose before fanning out across her cheeks. He found that quite fetching, really.

"You look good with a tan," Kate blurted out.

Will couldn't suppress a laugh. "You're a terrible flirt when you're drunk, Kaitlyn, you know that?"

_"You don't remember me. We met at a dinner party once. You were charming and I…I was tipsy."_

How long ago that day seemed, the day when he had believed Kate to be his enemy, the day when he had learned that Maya was gone forever. Will could think about that day now without wanting to tear his heart from his chest. He didn't know if it was simply the passage of time, or the fact that he distinctly remembered Maya telling him that she wanted him to live if he chose to come back, but he realized that his grief over losing her had dulled from excruciating, mind-numbing pain to a consistent ache.

And he could think about Kate, about how soft her lips looked, about how warm and solid her body felt against his, without hating himself for those thoughts.

Stepping back a little from him, Kate nervously brushed a few stray strands of hair from her face. "Sorry. I didn't mean…I know how things are between us. I didn't mean to start all of that again."

Will sat down on the porch railing, folding his arms across his chest. "Do you wish things were different? Between us, I mean."

Kate's cheeks pinked prettily. Turning her gaze to the moonlit water, she said quietly, "You know what I want, Will. The question," she glanced sideways at him, "is what you want."

_That's always been the real question, hasn't it? Who am I, and what do I want?_

Slowly but surely, Will found that he was discovering those answers. He didn't have everything figured out yet; he was only twenty-six, though, so he supposed he could cut himself some slack on that count. He had a lot of life ahead of him to find out who he was and what he wanted.

He did know, however, that he had missed Kate, and that he would miss her again when she left. He wasn't absolutely certain what that meant. What was more important to him was that he felt like he was ready to start finding out.

"I know I'd like it if you could stay a little while. A couple of days, maybe," Will offered, holding out his hand to her. Kate slipped her fingers into his and allowed herself to be pulled forward until her bare toes were on top of his. Will rested his hands on her hips; she placed her hands on his shoulders, gazing down at him intently.

"I could probably do that," she agreed, eyes on his lips. "If you want."

"I do." Will found himself growing warm from the heat in her gaze. "I do want that."

Things seemed to happen in slow motion then. Clasping her waist tightly, Will pulled Kate down toward him, watching her eyes turn smoky in anticipation of their kiss. Their mouths came together softly, neither one of them wanting to rush into anything, both content for the moment with a simple, sweet good-night kiss.

When Will released her, feeling a little breathless, Kate laughed huskily. "You know," she admonished, "I'm not the only one who's a terrible flirt when drunk, Mr. Traveler."

Will stood up, careful not to put too much weight on his injured leg all at once, and kept his arm around Kate's waist as they walked into the cottage. She leaned her head against his shoulder. He could feel her smiling, and it made him smile, too.

"C'mon, boy," he called from the doorway, whistling for McCullough to follow. Leaping up, the dog bounded past them into the house.

Will paused on the doorstep and looked back at silver moonlight dancing on the foam-capped waves. He hoped that somewhere, somehow, Maya could see him, and that she knew he would always love her, and that she was happy for him – and waiting for him to someday come back to her. He hoped that his friends were as content and secure as they seemed to be, and that they knew he would give anything to be with them – and that he had given everything to protect their futures.

Much as he missed Maya, Jay, Kim and Tyler, however, as he followed Kate into the cottage, for the first time in his life Will Traveler knew that he was right where he belonged.

**THE END**

_Author's Note: Okay, so…cue music for the credits and…I'm a sucker for happy endings! I hope you enjoyed the journey. If anybody is interested, please feel free to archive this fic on Traveler/Aaron Stanford/etc. websites or boards. Thanks for reading, and thanks to everyone for reviewing!_


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